Skip to main content

Full text of "Ena [microform]"

See other formats



Collection de 


Canadian Institut* for Historical iMIcroroproductions / Inititut Canadian da microrapraductiona htotoriquat 


Technical and Bibliographic Notes / Notes technique et bibliographlques 

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original 
copy available for filming. Features of this copy which 
may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of 
the images in the reproduction, or which may 
significantly change the usual method of filming are 
checked below. 


Coloured covers / 
Couverture de couleur 

I I Covers damaged / 

' — ' Couverture endommagte 

I I Covers restored an*or laminated/ 
— ' Couverture restauiee et/ou pelllculee 

I I Cover title missing / Le «:« de couverture manque 

I I Coloured maps / Cartes gtographlques en couleur 

I I Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black) / 

Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) 

I I Cokxjred plates and/or illustrations / 
— ' Planches et/ou illustiattons en couleur 

I I Bound with other material / 
' — ' Reli* avec d'autres documents 

I I Only editton available / 
I — ' Seule editkxi disponible 

[ I Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion 
along interior margin / La rellure serr6e peut 
causer de I'ombre ou de la distoisk>n le long de 
la marge intdrieure. 

I I Blank leaves added during restoratkms may appear 

— ' within the text. Whenever possible, these have 

been omjtted from filming / II se peut que certakies 

pages blanches ajouties tors d'une restauratkm 

appaiaJssent dans le texte, nnais, loisque cela itait 

, ces pages n'ont pas «6 fHmtes. 

L'lnstitut a microfilm^ le meilleur examplaire qu'il lui a 
6te possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exem- 
plaire qui sont peut-6tre uniques du point de vue bibli- 
ographique. qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, 
ou qui peuvent exiger une modifications dans la nn6th- 
ode nonnaie de filmage sont indiqu^s ci-dessous. 

I I Coloured pages/ Pages de couleur 

[^ Pages damaged/ Pages endommagies 

I I Pages restored and/or laminated / 
Pages restaui^es et/ou pellkultes 

Pages diseolouied, stained or foxed / 
Pages decohirtes, tachettes ou piquees 

I I Pages detached/ Pages dStachees 

r^ Showthrough/ Transparence 

I I Quality of print varies / 

I — ' Quality in^gale de I'impression 

I I Includes supplementary material / 

Comprend du materiel supplementaire 

I I Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata 
' — ' slips, tissues, etc.. have been returned to 
ensure the best possible image / Les pages 
totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un 
feuillet d'enata, une pelure, etc., ont Mi filmtes 
i nouveau de fa(on k obtenir la mellleure 
image possible. 

I I Opposing pages with varying colouration or 
' — ' discolourations are filmed twice to ensure the 
best possible image / Les pages s'opposant 
ayant des colorations variables ou des decol- 
orations sont fllm^es deux fois afin d'obtenir la 
meilleur image possible. 


Addtional comments / 
Comnientaiies suppl^mentaiiss: 

Thii itam i> lilmad at tin raduetion ratio chackad iMlow/ 

C« documant ast f ilma au uux da rMuction indiqirf ci^danoin 


12 X 

Th* copy filnwd hart hu bMn raproducad thanks 
to tha ganarotitv of: 

National Library of Canada 

L'axamplaira film* fut raproduit griea t la 
atntiotitt da: 

Bibllotheque nationals du Canada 

Tha imasaa appaaring hara ara tha baat quality 
poatibla eontidaring tha condition and lagibillty 
of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha 
filming contract apaeification*. 

Laa imaga* tuivantai ont ttt raproduitas avac la 
plua grand lOin. compta tanu da >i condition at 
da la nattat* da l'axamplaira film*, at an 
eonformiti avac laa condition* du contrat da 

Original capiat in printad papar covara ara flimsd 
baginning with tha front covar and anding on 
tha iaat paga with a printad or llluttratad Impraa- 
aion, or tha back covar whan apprepriata. All 
othar original copiaa ara filmad baginning on tha 
first paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- 
alon, and anding on tha iaat paga with a printad 
or illuatratad impraaaion. 

Laa aaamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura an 
paplar ast imprimAa sont filmas an commancant 
par la pramlar plat at an tarminant soit par la 
darniAra paga qui compona una amprainta 
d'Impratsion ou d'illustratlon, soit par la sacond 
plat, salon la caa. Tous laa autrat axamplairat 
originaux sont filmts an commancant par la 
pramiira paga qui comporta una amprainta 
d'imprassion ou d'illustratlon at »n tarminant par 
la darnitra paga qui comporta una talia 

Tha last racordad frama on aach microficha 
shall contain tha symbol ^^ (moaning "CON- 
TINUED"), or tha symbol ▼ Imaaning "END"), 
whiehavar appiias. 

Un daa symbolss suivants spparaitra sur la 
darniAra imaga da chaqua microficha. talon la 
cas: la symbols —»■ signifia "A SUIVRE", la 
symbols ▼ signifia "FIN". 

Maps, platas. charts, ate, may ba filmad at 
diffarant raduction ratios. Thosa too larga to ba 
antiraly inciudad in ona axposura ara filmad 
baginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar, laft to 
right and top to bottom, as msny framas as 
raquirad. Tha following diagrams illustrata tha 

Las cartaa, planchas, tablaaux. ate. pauvant itra 
fllmto t das taux da rMuction diffirants. 
Lorsqua la documant ast trap grand pour itra 
raproduit an un saul clicht. il ast film* 1 psrtir 
da I'angla supAriaur gaucha. da gaucha i droita. 
at da haul an bas, an pranant la nombra 
d'imagaa nicassaira. Las diagrammas suivsntt 
illustrant la mMhoda. 

1 2 3 












■ 2.2 





^S*^ 1653 Egsl Main Strtat 

Sr.S Rochester. New York 14609 JSA 

•^^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone 

^= (716) 288 - 59B9 - Fax 


Mrs. Frances e. HE.^RING 


CANADIAN CAMP LIFE. A Domestic Slory ..f 
Life on ihe ln)rder lai;c!s of Canada and the 
United States of America. Illustrated. Second 
Edition. Crown 8vo. Price 3.i. (id. 

THE WEST. Is of peculiar inta-est to the 
women of cha jiresent day, as it speaks oi the 
life of women in a new country. The char;:cter 
sketcii 's of her sex are a .strong point in Mrs. 
Herri, iy;'s writings, she having- been a pioneer 
in Britisli Columbia. The Look has a nimiber 
of Illustrations, and cuntaiiis a Prrtr&it cf the 
Author. Crown Svo. Price 3s. 6d. 

ENA. Is a simple story of a girl's life in the Old 
Country, who strives conscientiously to do licr 
duty. Crown Svo. Price 3s. 6d. 


COLUMBIA. Characteristic of the Cosmo- 
politan Life, where Occident and Orient meet 
in every day life, combined with an interesting 
story of love and adventure. Pullv Illustrated. 
Second Edition. -Fisher Unmin, London, Eng. 

IN THE PATHLESS WEST. Is the story of a 
boy capture: by the North American Indians, 
and tells familiarly of the life of these little 
brown people. It is profusely Illustrated. 
Second Edition. -FisAcr Unwh, London, Eng. 

THE GOLD MINERS. A sequel to "The Path- 
less West." With an Introduction by Judge 
F. W. Ho way. 







Author of C4W«. Camf Lift , Am»g ihe P,>pl, tf 

• Ptthltn Wtil, tie., ,u., ,tc. 






r*' *( 

8 '■•' t ^ 

£ -^ & 

;r '-^■, > 


DiAK Rbadir, 

Thi» is I timple itory of the English home 
hfe, u lived by many of my contemporaries many 
years ago. It is distinct from my delineations of 
Colonial and Canadian Life as given in Canadian 
Camp Lift i AmiMt tht Pitpli tf Britith Cclumbia ; 
and its sequel, N . ; and others. I have lived on 
this farthest West Coas' for the last 37 years and 
have seen the country grotv ■ nm its infancy of 
civilization to iu present prosperi < . 

Very sincerely yours, 

(Mrs. A. M. HiRKiNc.) 



' Wake and come quick ! Miss Ena ! Miss Ena ! ' 
called a sturdy maid-of-all-work, as she vigorously shook 
a little girl of nine, adding in an awe-stricken whisper, 
' you're father's a dyin', wake up and come quick ! ' 

It was a chilly morning early in May, and the child 
shivered as her clothes were hastily put on, and she 
was hurried by the maid into ' Daddy's ' room. He was 
propped up with pillows, and the grandmother, with 
her healthy, rosy face bathed in tears, stood near him, 
soothing as best she could his last moments, and trying 
vainly to understand the dying injunctions, he strove 
too late, to give. 

Her mother stood at the foot of the great lumbering, 
handsomely carved, ' four post ' bedstead, almost hidden 
by its heavy hangings of dark grey merino. She was 
crying weakly, quietly ; hardly realising that it was the 
end of John, and his kindly, unselfish care of her and 
the little ones. But as her mother closed the eyes of 
the man, and the poor wife felt that all was over, she 
broke out hysterically, calling upon him to come back, 


and not leave her to bear the burden alone. 'How 
can I manage things, how can I : how can I?' she 

There was a loud wailing from a cot near, and 
Grandma took up a dark, wiry mite of a baby girl, 
some two months old, and tried to make her daughter 
take an interest in it, but to no purpose. So the dear 
old lady wrapped it in a warm woollen shawl, carried 
It downstairs, and after feeding it. gave it to Betty to 
hold. The girl sat in the wide chimney corner, 
watching the old lady, as she bustled about, giving 
Gent orders to take the wagonette to Granston, some 
nine miles distent, bring back old 'Nurse* who had 
only left a few' days before, and, 'tell the doctor your 
Master ,s dead,' she said to the old man. ' Here child 
get your things and go with him,' she called to Ena,' 
you can show him where Nurse lives.' 
Ena did as she was told, climbed into the wagonette 
half-dressed as she was, and sat shivering by the old 
man, on their long drive to Granston. 

Arrived there, she knew the small street which 
turned off from the main thoroughfare where 'nurse' 
lived, and showed it accordingly; but as to which 
house she occupied in the row of monotonous little 
bnck tenements, was another matter altogether. 

When Gent rattled and rapped here and there 

and asked for 'Nuss.' he was asked sharply, 

Nuss who?' but as neither could tell the woman's 

name, the doors were slammed in their faces; people 

didn't hke to be disturbed while dressing their childt«n. 



or taken from the hurried preparation of breakfast 
Ena had known the old dame since she could remember 
anything, had always called her 'Nurse,' ; and it never 
occurred to the Grandma that neither she nor Gent 
knew the woman's name. 

'Oh ! ' burst out the child, as a hard-featured woman 
was again closing the door upon them, ' Can't you tell 
us where Nurse lives, Daddy is dead, and Mamma is 
crying, we do want Nurse so bad ! ' 

The woman paused and thought a minute, for the 
misery in the child's face touched her. ' Hev she a 
hump-backed sister, as keeps a little schule ? ' 

'Oh! yes, just for small children,' answered Ena 

' Then it's Miss Bullen as you want, she lives two 
doors down, on t'other side, that's her now,' and she 
pointed over the way. But Ena stopped to hear no 
more, she jumped down and running across the street 
threw her arms round the old lady's neck, as she 
caught her up in a motherly embrace. 

The woman watched the little scene, as she said to 
herself, 'Swiepin' her yard indeed, this time o' morin," 
mighty perticlar ! gits all them idees goin' a nussin ' ; 
ef she'd a hed half-a-dozen children herself, she'd a 
found it diffe'nt,' and she returned to her helter- 
skelter kitchen, and unkempt youngsters, satisfied that 
hers was the only right way. 

Nurse knew something was wrong, or Gent would 
scarcely be there so early, and her thoughts flew to 
'Missus,' and the baby she had left doing so well 

I < 



only a week or ten days ago. She waited for Ena 
to speak. 'Daddy is dead, come home with us 
quick. Nurse!' she sobbed, breaking down now her 
errand was accomplished. The good woman saw how 
cold and pinched the child looked, and her kindly little 
deformed sister bustled about and got them breakfast 
While they ate it, she put a few things together for 
Nurse, and Gent went with his message to the Doctor. 
^ The three were soon on their way back, as fast as 
Joggy • the good stout pony could take them. Poor 
Mrs Hetherington had laugh'ngly given him that name 
on account of his easy jog-trot pace. 

The events of that morning always remained vividly 
in Ena's memoi^. even the feeling that she was doing 
wrong to stop for breakfast, whilst Daddy was waiting 
to be 'laid out.' She was sent later in the day to the 
village shop for more flannel for the shroud, and she 
remembered how the shopman had questioned her as 
to her father's rather sudden death, and the curious 
glances of the people there had turned to pity, when 
unable to answer them, she had laid her head against 
the high counter and cried in childish grief. 

Mr Hetherington had been in business in Granston. 
but his health gave way, and he was not equal to the 
strain it imposed upon him ; so, as he had lately come 
into a few acres of land, the old homestead, and a little 
money, he resolved to ' ive the town life, and try 
what the country air, and out-door occupations could 
do for him. His ivife had never liked the idea, the 
very name of 'the country' suggesting loneliness: 


besides, she left behind her all the friends and 
acquaintances of her life. 

Mr Hetherington had put some sheep and Iambs 
into the house orchard, and it was in looking after 
them he took a severe cold, which resulted in inflama- 
tion, and his rather sudden death. 

I' ; 



They lived near the church, so no hearse or vehicle 
was used at the funeral, but eight sturdy yeomen bore 
him upon their shoulders, four carrying, and four 
walking alongside, relieving each other at intervals. 

The mourners followed, first the two little boys hand 
in hand, then the widow and her mother, then Ena and 
Hattie, a child of six years. After them came relatives 
and friends, according to their degree of relationship, 
male taking precedence of female relatives : walking 
silently along the middle of the muddy road, a dismal 
procession. The rain, meanwhile, poured in gusty 
torrents, whilst the chill east wind searched through 
their very bones, and blew their sombre garments about 
in wild confusion. 

The cortege was met at the white fence of the 
churchyard by the aged clergyman, his snowy locks 
streaming, and his sonorous voice sounding so large in 
comparison to his small and shrunken body, as he read 
the comforting words of the Burial Service, walking 
ahead of the coffin, into the church, which held inscrip- 
tions as far back as the thirteenth century. 

After the last rites had been performed they all 
returned to the house, and cake and wine were handed 



round, as they sat in solemn circle, ranged round the 
walls of the parlour. Then another small tray was 
handed round to the bearers, containing eight little 
parcels of money : they each took one and went their 
several ways, leaving the relatives waiting to hear the 
will read. The family lawyer was there, but he said no 
will had been executed to his knowledge ; and, as the 
small estate was entailed, it would revert to the eldest 
son when he came of age. 

Grandma grumbled at the injustice of this, and the 
relatives went away disappointed. They seemed to 
have come more to hear the will read, than for any 
love of the dead man, although of course, in the'face of 
the widow and children, they could have expected 
nothing for themselves. 

Mrs Hetherington seemed utterly unable to rouse 
herself to anything like action, and the grandmother, 
Mrs Howel, did her best to control and care for the 
children. She found it tiresome work, however, as 
she had had but the one daughter herself, who, with 
neither brother nor sister to lead her into mischief was 
easily managed. 

When she tried to assert herself with the two boys 
they would scamper out of the house, climb the tall 
poplar trees that surrounded the place, and sit, masters 
of the situation ; till, in dread of their falling and hurting 
or even killing themselves, she would bribe them with 
some nuts or figs to come down, which they would do 
when enough to satisfy them was offered. 

The eldest boy, John, after his father (there had been 






an eldest son John In the family for at least four 
generations) was a handsome boy of ten, square built 
and lissome, tall for his age, and of that fair, red and 
white, Saxon type, so pleasant to the eye. 

The second boy, Sam, was small and very dark, of a 
nervous and irritable disposition, but withal a good 
honest heart. He was made to fetch and carry for his 
elder brother, who was heard to remark to him with a 
masterful air, 'If you don't do what I tell you, I shall 
kick you out when I'm a man, 'cause this '11 all be 
mine, then what'll you do?' Sam wondered himself 
what he would do, forgetting he would be a man by the 
time his brother was. 

The 'all' was a very small estate, which had 
dwindled down from generation to generation, till only 
enough was left with care and economy, to bring up 
this family of five. 

After the death of Mr Hetherington's mother, an old 
lady of ninty-seven, i jrtain repairs had been needed in 
the old house, and a sum of ;f 90 had been expended on 
these, which had been duly paid by the late Mr 
Hethenngton; his wife, with a childish pleasure at 
handling so much money at once, counted it out for 
hun. and had seen him off with it. When he returned 
he looked for his receipt, but found he had lost it. and 
remarked to her ' Why, Esther, I've lost the receipt for 
that money, I must get another from Reed next time I 
go to town. His sudden illness prevented his doinz 
so, and Mrs Hetherington had thought no more about 
It, till one afternoon. Reed himself was shown into the 



ptrlour, bowing and smiling in an obsequious way he 
liad, when he presented this same bill over again. 
Mrs Hetherington explained about her husband taking 
the money to him, and the losing of the receipt. All to 
no purpose, he blandly insisted upon the production of 
the receipt, which he knew was impossible, for he had 
himself picked it up from his office floor after Mr 
Hetherington's departure, and as soon as he heard of 
his death, had put it in the fire. 

The widow, finding all argument of no avail, went off 
into a violent fit of hysteria. This had no more effect 
than the other arguments, for he quietly waited until 
she was calm, and then laid his proposition before the 
two women, which was :— If they would sign documents 
promising to pay the amount in three instalments, 
without interest (he laid great stress upon his generosity 
in this), he would accept them j if not, he would 
immediately pu . the matter in court, and sue them for 
the amount. 

The very words 'court' and 'sueing,' almost put 
their hair on end; they imagined themselves in the 
witness box being questioned, and bullied, and perhaps, 
for some inadvertence, put into jail. They had never 
seen the inside of a law court, and their horror of it 
decided them. 

They signed the papers, Mrs Howel not forgetting to 
remind Reed of the fate of those who robbed the father- 
less and the widow; but he only smiled blandly, 
buttoned up the papers securely in his coat, and bowed 
himself out as obsequiously as he had bowed himself 


in, and Ui« mother and daughter breathed more 

Beuy now came in and spread the Ubie neatly for 
tea, not afternoon tea, but quite a substantial meal of 
bread and butter, cake and jam, sometimes chops or 
boiled eggs, omelette or any little potted or canned 
relish, and whenever a trip to Cranston had been made 
a supply of toasted and buttered muffins or crumpets 
was added as an extra treat. 

Mrs Hetherington established herself comfortably 
behind the silver teapot, and arranged the pretty china 
teaset, allowing her mother to assist her to the best of 
everything the Uble afforded. Then the children were 
helped, and BeUy brought them their ' mugs' of milk and 
water, and the two elders enjoyed their first cup of tea 
almost in silence. Over the third cup, which is popu- 
larly known as 'the gossiping cup,' they forgot their 
neighbour's affairs, and fell to discussing their own 
ways and means. 


I ' f ) 


The widow had only or hundred pounds a year coming 
in from renta, and five pounds of that had to go for 
income tax, beside other taxes, and the poor's rate, which 
was very high that year. 

Poor Mrs Hetherington said with tears in her eyes, 
and much truth in her assertion, ' We shall need the 
poors' rate ourselves far more than many of those who 
will get it.' 

'Well, but that's neither here nor thci-e, my dear,' 
said her mother cheerily, 'we must meet all our dues 
and demands, and live or sUrv? on what is left.' 

The orchard, in which the house was built, contained 
five acres of trees j they would sell the fruit, and if it 
was only a good year, that would greatly help. Then 
Grandma said she would meet part of the expense out 
of her own income, 'and,' she added brightly, 'we can 
sell Joggy and the wagonette, you know there is a tax 
on both of them, especially the wagonette, as it is a 
four-wheeled vehicle ; and you, Esther, can have a nice 
little car, and a good donkey, that will save the tax, as 
nothing drawn by a donkey is taxed, and you can still 
"jog" round as you please.' 

'Ohl' complained Mrs Hetherington. 'my only 
pleasure to be taken away from me ! And me driving 

h 11 

I " 


behind a kicking donkey, and all these dear children 
tumbled out, and perhaps lome of them killed.' 

'Well, well,' toothed the old lady, 'we'll see what 
else can be done.' Mrs Hetherington, who had found 
the country very dull indeed after Graniton life and 
gossip, had taken to driving comforubly behind Joggy, 
and felt that was the only way in which existence was 

'Then I'm afraid Betsy must go, we can't afford to 
keep a servant. Ena must wash the dishes, and John 
must attend to the pony carriage.' 

'Tend to 'em yourself. Granny Grunt,' he said, and, 
finger to nose, escaped through the parlour window, 
and up his favourite tree. 

The Grandma's blue eyes gleamed as she said to 
her daughter, ' You ought to whip him for tl .t, Esther! 
' ' know I ought, mother,' she returned weakly, 'but 
how can I reach him there ? ' and she pointed to where 
he was shouting defiance at both, and looking every 
moment, as if the slender boughs must break, and let 
him into eternity. 

He made his bargain not to be whipped, from his 
coin of vantage, then came down and finished his tea 
with great gusto. 

'You're a bad boy to treat Grandma so,' said Ena 
gravely from the chimney corner, where she sat in the 
ingle nook, half hidden by the big pot of greenery. 

' Hold your tongue ! ' he shouted, taking from 
his pocket a sharp stone, he threw it at her, striking 
her on the forehead. 




'You •houM let him .lone. En..' her mother Mid. 
you know he won't let you interfere with him.' 
The child got up and went into the kitchen to Beu^ 
for comfort S.m. who .11 thi. Ume h«! been quietly 
e.tin« hit te. .nd looking on, now followed her. .nd 
the children bttked In the warmth of the kitchen hewth 
while Bet.y got her own tem and then washed up the 
te. thing., grumbling to herself the while. 'It w.s jeit 
. the w.y Miwu. let Master John go on. an' 
d.dnt do nuthin' to en, he'd oughter be at whule 
he'd ought, an' he aunten mischief, or wus ud come out ' 
We ought to go to school. Sam. like we did in 
Granston. said Ena. 'don't you think so? I'm going 
to ask mamma to let us go.' 

'I don't want to go to school,' returned h-. 'but if 
you do, you'd best ask Grandma.' 

Ena crept back into the parlour, and round by 
Grandmas side, who sat in her high-backed easy chair 
her feet on a stool, and silve.-rimmed spectacles on 
nose, knitting away as if existence depended on her 
speed. Ena got out a garter the old Lay was teaching 
her to knit, and sat down near her. Presently her 
Grandma noticed how absorbed the child was. wid 
spoke to her; she started, her mind was seeking how 
to approach the subject of school. She looked up, 
disclosing the bruise upon her forehead. 'Why,' said 
the old lady kindly, ' what a bruise you've got,' and then 
to herself sadly, 'that boy's very bad lately, always in 

'Send him to school, Grandma, let us all go ' 

i ' 



The old lady renected. "There's only the National 
School at Skifton ; that's too rough for young ladies, it 
might do for the boys.' 

' But,' said this maiden of nine, ' I'm going to be a 
teacher, and earn my own living just as soon as I'm 
old enough.' 

' Bless me, child ! ' and she looked over her spectacles 
as she always did when surprised, ' What put that into 
your head ? ' 

'This,' she said, pointing to the blue mark upon her 
forehead, 'and then I can help you look after Hattie 
and the baby, John says they're "only girls" like me, 
and no good at all.' 

Grandma was too taken-aback to say a word, and 
Mrs Hetherington coming in then, she said quietly to 
to her, 'Don't you think we'd better send the children 
to school, Esther ? ' 

' I don't see how we can stand the expense, besides 
driving them into Granston and back every day.' 

'Well, but we could send; them here, you know, all 
the farmers send theirs.' 

Mrs Hetherington was quite oiTended that her mother 
should think such a school good enough for her 
children, and said with a toss of her head, ' Ena can't 
go, of course.' 
' I don't see why she can't, Esther.' 
'Oh ! well we're almost paupers, I suppose, and you 
do just as you like with us. If poor John had only 
been here, it would have been very diiTerent,' and she 
began to cry. 


' I DO hate these big old rooms ! I declare I'm never 
warml The sun can't get in through those little 
leaded panes ; and if I have some logs put on the 
hearth, I'm roasted. If poor dear John had only left 
me comfortably settled in Granston, in a house some- 
where near yours on Regent Street, we might have been 
so happy, mightn't we mother? and we needn't have 
had the expense of Joggy and the wagonette ; and we 
might have kept Betsy, or some good servant,' and 
Mrs Hetherington paused, and looked at the old lady, 
who was regarding her over her spectacles, well 
knowing som-. concession was going to be asked. ' I 
really don't see how we're to get along without Betsy, 
I'm not strong enough for sweeping and cooking and 
all that, and you know the children make so much 

'Well Esther, I think we could get along without the 
pony-carriage far better than we could without Betsy ; 
but I've been thinking of another plan. You know you 
never use the best parlour, and the bedroom over it.' 

Esther looked up from among her comfortable 
cushions on the roomy old sofa in alarm, and ex- 
claimed, 'I'm not going to have any lodgers; don't go 




letting half my house, my poor children would have no 
liberty then, and besides I might get talked about, 
being a young widow.' 

Her mother looked at the pretty little figure in her 
neatly fitting black dress, her fair, unwrinkled face 
resting against the deep crimson of a cushion, and said 
smilingly and with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, 
'You know, my dear, you'll be thirty-eight your next 
birthday, and I don't look on that as an altogether 
frivolous age. But I was merely going to propose that 
I should fit them up for myself. I must have my own 
fireside, my comfortable feather bed that plumps up a.i 
round me when I get into it ; my birds and my window 

'That would keep out what little light does come 
in at these windows,' interjected her daughter discon- 
tentedly,' and then all the noise and trouble of the 

'Well I don't mind that, my dear,' continued the 
cheerful old lady. ' I know you wouldn't care for it 
where you sat, but I miss them; they're like old 
friends. Now, on condition that you'll give up those 
two rooms to me, so I can fit them up to suit myself, 
for I must say, too much of this old fashioned furniture 
is rather dismal. TTien you see, I can let my house in 
Regent Street, and be here all the time with you.' 

The mother and daughter, who had lived all their 

lives in Granston, in the more lightly built town houses, 

thought the heaviness of this old place rather oppressive. 

It was built right on the side of the road. When you 



opened the front door you went down two or three 
steps, into a large hall, with its great cavernous open- 
hearth in front of you. All the downstairs rooms opened 
into it, that is those which had been kept in repair. A 
wing to the south had fallen to decay, and the grape 
vines climbed amongst its ruins, the fruit ripening in the 
warm nooks, making an abundant and delicious crop in 
sunny years. The walls were very thick, and only rose 
to where the high dormer windows of the bedrooms 
commenced, rearing their hooded heads through the 
thatch, hice great eyes. The roomy attics were only 
lighted from the gable ends. On the right of the hall 
as you entered, was the best parlour; this room 
enjoyed the privilege of two windows, which despite 
Mrs Hetherington's complaint, were by no means 
small. True the panes were diamond shaped, and set 
in lead, but the lattice opened out the full size of the 
centre, and they held deep embrazures where one 
might curl up among the cushions, and watch the 
passers-by. These consisted of a few heavy country 
waggons with their wide tyres, generally drawn by 
three horses, harnessed in line, their driver walking 
alongside whip in hand; or a woman with a large 
basket on her arm, going to the village shop to dispose 
of her butter and eggs, and get groceries or whatever 
she might need in return ; sometimes a fish-cart out of 
the marshes, or a pedlar's hand cart, and troops of 
children of all ages, t and fro, for school, some of 
them walking daily fro i the Marshland farms, as far as 
eight or ten miles. Very seldom a carriage or anything 

' 1 



smarter than a two-wheeled cart or gig. On the 
owwsite side was a rail fence, and acres of pasturage 
stretched away, with only a very old mulberry tree, 
lying on the ground, to break the monotony of grass 
and sky. The side window looked into their own 
orchard. Peace, peace, utter quiet and peace 1 

All the floors down stairs were of glazed bricks, and, 
to humour the town wife of Mr John, as Mr Hetherington 
was always called, plenty of straw had been put down, 
and a carpet spread over it ; that being almost the only 
innovation. A large cabinet of mahogany, black with 
age, stood in the centre of one wall, with a profusion of 
old china and silver upon it, and a mirror framed in the 
same dark wood extended to the rather low ceiling from 
the back of it. Hugh beams of wood stretched across 
this ceiling, making it appear lower than it really was. 
But the glory of the room was its immense open hearth 
raised almost a foot above the floor, and extending two^ 
thirds of its entire length, with its settees inside its 
mgle nook, its brake hanging down the chimney, upon 
which the tea-kettle was hung to boil; its big pot of 
greenery in summer ; but best of all in winter, with its 
great back-log across the dog-irons, their bright heads 
shining -n the crackling blaze of the smaller wood piled 
in front. Over it, the high mantel, shining with its tall 
candle-sticks of brass and silver, with other bright and 
quaint articles, its short curtain below, and its two long 
ones on either side, which were drawn back when there 
was a fire, to escape the sparks, and forward in the 
summer, and prettily draped. The rest of the furniture 



was dark and heavy, except several very modern, and 
very cosy easy chairs. 

But the kitchen was the children's delight, and as 
John was afraid of losing Betsy's home-made sweets 
and cakes if he was naughty, they had peace and quiet 
there. The great hearth here had several hakes 
hanging down it for boiling purposes, its oven being 
underneath the raised platform, as it were ; with hams 
and sides of bacon hanging up the chimney to smoke ; 
some green bacon hung from the rafters or beams, in 
company with bags of herbs, strings of onions, and 
bright kitchen utensils. Over the mantel here were 
the bedroom candlesticks, moulds for making tallow 
candles, ironing boxes, and bright sauce-pan lids. On 
one wall, like a great yellow sun, shone the big brass 
warming-pan, which had been used for generations to 
warm or air the roomy beds. The kitchen was very 
large, as it occupied the entire length of the house, 
except an airy pantry, and a small scullery, where all 
the dish-washing was done, and where all black pots 
and pans had their abiding places. Betsy had knitted 
a large rug from old pieces of cloth, for the front of the 
fire, giving the place an air of comfort. 

From the back door of the kitchen, and up its two steps, 
you went right into a garden rank with ragged robins, 
candy-tufi, lark-spur, wallflower, sweet peas, holly- 
hocks, and monthly roses, whilst creeping up the old 
thatch was a honey-suckle whose roots and stem were 
curled and gnarled with age. Here and there was a 
patch ol par^'ey, some heads of horse-radish, bunches 




of sweet marjoram, thyme and sage, with other pot 
herbs, and in a sunny corner, thatched over with straw, 
were a line of bee hives of the old dome shaped kind. 
Beyond was the vegetable garden, with some currant 
and gooseberry bushes, and rows of raspberry canes, 
then the rest of the fivo acres stretched out in orchard 
and grass, bounded by a border of poplars, which were 
the highest trees for twenty miles around. 

M j). 




'Well Ena,' said Grandma briskly, a few mornings 
after the talli with her daughter, 'shall we go to 
Cranston to-day, and see how my birds are getting 
along ? I must decide what I shall want here, as I'm 
going to fit up the best parlour and bedroom to suit me, 
then you see I can look after Hattie and baby Jessie 
while you are learning to be a school-mistress.' 

So to Cranston they went in the carrier's cart, a 
two-wheeled affair, with a cover over it, drawn by one 
horse, and which jolted up and down, keeping time 
with the pace of the horse, as he shuffled along. The 
Carrier was an old woman, whose hands, from the 
wrists, '^ent outward, as though much holding of the 
reins, and keeping her horse from scratching his nose, 
everytime he stumbled, had made them grow that way. 

Mrs Howel went first to a paper-hanger and painter, 
and sent him out, armed with bright papers and light 
paints, to brighten up her rooms in the most uncon- 
scionable and modern manner. 

When they returned with the furniture, the rooms 
looked so light and bright, they jarred on Ena ; but 
the good Crandma was in a bustle of delight, putting 
up gay chintz curtains over the open hearth, hanging the 
canaries, arranging her plants in the windows ; whilst 
behind her geraniums, calsolarias, and pelagoniums, 


1^ I 


r. i 

„ i 




she hung curuins of fine netting, daintily darned in 
patterns by her own deft fingers. 

Ena sat on a low stool with baby Jessie in her lap, 
watching it all ; at last she said thoughtfully, 'Grand- 
ma, I do think everything gets bright and pretty where 
you are, and you are always bright and pretty your- 
self.' The brisk old lady paused In her work, and 
looked at the child with her bright eyes full of pleasure; 
but a shade passed over them as she looked at the too 
serious looking child. 'What aiis you,' she said, 
' you look as forlorn as can be, don't you feel well, or 
has John been teasing you ? ' 

^ 'I'm quite w^ll, thank you, Grandma, but John says 
I'm to go and mind Dudden's baby, and gel sixpence 
a week for it ; and that Mamma only cares for him, 
she isn't fond of Sam and us giris. I asked Mamma, 

and she said, " Stuff «r4 nonsense, don't fly in the face 

of Providence, and set your I,: '!,er against you, or 

you'll have no home by and bye, because he'll be 

master, and you must do as he tells you." 
Grandma was silent, she had always thought the 

law of entailment unjust ; for girii as a rule needed 

more assistance than boys to make their way in life ; 

they should at least have as much ; and here was 

this boy growing unbearable already. 
Ena continued, after a pause, but with great 

decision. ' I shan't mind Dudden's baby, but I shall 

go to school.' 
'So you shall, Ena, so you shall, and learn to be a 

teacher. Never mind what John says.' 


Monday morning came, and Mrs Hetherington was 
roused early enough to go off to the village school 
with her three eldest born. She saw Mr Linwood, the 
schoolmaster, arranged about the Tee, which was only 
threepence per week for each child, and promised to 
send them regularly. She returned, feeling better for 
having roused herself to some kind of action, had 
Joggy harnessed, and with Jessie in Grandma's lap, 
and wee, puny Hattie at their feet, set off for a three 
or four hours' drive. They did not return till after the 
children had gone back to school at two o'clock ; so 
they missed the troubled face of Ena, who most un- 
usual thing for her, had been getting into trouble. 

The school was a mixed one of some three hundred 
children, taught by Mr Linwood, with male pupil 
teachers and monitors under him. Mrs Linwood, who 
held no Government certificate, only went into school 
in the afternoon to teach plain sewing, cutting-out, 
knitting and darning. 

The school itself was a two-storied building, the lower 

storey of which could be divided into three separate 

rooms by folding doors. Morning prayers were always 

said with the doors pushed back, and directly afterwards 

r i 


l< if l\ 



(except on Mondtya, when the school-pence were flnt 
Uken) drawn out again, and the three grades of the 
elder boys and girls had their rooms to themselves. 

In the upper story, the Infant department, that is alt 
children from the ages of four to seven, were taught in 
the morning; wliile the girls all assembled there in the 
afternoon, for their instruction in needlework. Shelves 
with curuins in front, were here provided for the girls' 
clothing. Consequently, at twelve o'clock the girls 
came up to dress before going home, or to get the lunch 
they had brought with them, if they lived far away. 

Ena came with the rest, and being espied by the 
teacher in charge, a mischievous son of Mr Llnwood's, 
as being new and shy, he suddenly presented himself, 
and said he was going to kiss her. Quick anger Hashed 
in her cheeks and eyes, and seizing a pointer, which 
being thick at one end and thin at the other, could 
scarcely be thrown straight, she hurled it with all her 
might at him ; missing him of course ; but the sharp 

end made a rent in a large new map of the British Isles, 

hanging over the mantel. 
Immediately there was consternation 1 They all 

stood greatly in awe of Mr Linwood, a man standing 

over six feet in height, and with a quick and alert 

manner seldom seen in big men. 
Ena stood with the rest, then raising her head and 

still flashing eyes, she announced her intention of going 

down, and telling him herself. 

' Yar darsent ! ' sung out several voices. The teacher 

hurried out his classes, and got away quickly himself 


thinking she would tell upon him ; he knew that meant 
a caning, big as he was, from his father, who was never 
known to spare the rod on his own or any one else's 

Ena went slowly down, the infant classes scampering 
off in a hurry past her. The master was standing at 
his desk, cane in hand, ready to punish some culprit, 
who stood waiting by, longing to get it over, yet dread- 
ing for it to commence. She looked straight at him, 
and said in a rather tremulous voice, 'Mr Linwood, 
I've torn the map over the mantel upstairs. I threw 
the pointer at something else, and it went through that. 
I am very sorry,' her voice was almost a whisper as 
she said the last words, her courage was failing her. 
She thought the next moment the cane would descend 
on her shoulders, and her face wore an ashen whiteness, 
even to the lips. 

The teachers all down the long room paused in their 
work of putting away black-boards and books, to see 
what would come of this strange procedure. The 
master seemed waiting for more, in reality he was too 
much astonished to recover himself at once j then he 
said, 'Go home to dinner, I'll go up this afternoon and 
look at it.' 

She made a courtesy, as she hal seen the others do, 
and said 'Thank you. Sir!' then went slowly out. 
Long afterwards, when Mr Linwood knew all about it, 
he said he was glad to see her able to walk out, he 
thought she was going to faint. 

In the afternoon Ena fared better, Mrs Linwood, a 






fine mitronly woman, toiled up tl " long lUirt, her arm* 
full of needlework. The girls, who were seated all 
round the room, (topped their noity talk, and roee to 
receive her. Then two or three of the elder ones went 
to a painted chest of drawers, and took out a number 
of 'lap-bags,' these were small print aprons with a piece 
joined on at the bottom, and partly up the sides, form- 
ing a kind of large pocket, in which the girls put away 
their work. A running string went through a hem in 
the top, and they tied them on like aprons. Happy the 
girl who possessed a pair of scissors and a needle-book 
to dangle by a tape from the waist ! 

Many of them had work in their bags to go on with, 
others crowded round the work table and Mrs Linwood, 
trying to secure the first pieces given out. Old stock- 
ings had holes darned in them, and thin places run 
evenly by the thread. Stocking knitting, and the 
making of many useful articles, beside clothing for the 
'Parish Bags,' which rcns':/-d of br.d linen and under- 
clothing for men, women, or infants. These things 
were put, so many in a bag, and sent to the sick poor, 
upon condition that they returned them clean and 
whole, when no longer needed ; with the exception of 
the infant's clothing, which was given. Then they 
made dozi.. j of plain pinafores, which were either given 
to the children, or sold to them at the cost of the 

When work ran short, they learnt different stitches, 
such as back-stitching, herring-boning, button-holing 
and so on, using little squares of linen, or they had 


etnvM and bright coloured cotton, with which they 
made 'Mmpieri,' containing all the capital and small 
letters of the alphabet. follo«ed by the figure, from 
one to ten ; all embellislied by some wonderful line., 
and the corner, decorated with impcible tree, 
basket., or flowers. These were simply work, of ari 
m the eye. of the girls, and when one of them had 
worked hers w well that it wa. presented to her. a 
frame and a piece of gla.. was generally procured, and 
It wa. hung up in the cottage with a. mu^h pride and 
plea.ure a. many girls of the better educated classes 
hang their paintings. 

Mrs Linwood's only daughter Annie, a girl of Ena's 
own age. helped with the little ones, and a. these two 
soon became fast friends, they did this together. 

There was little order, how could there be with some 
eighty girls to be kept at work, and only one pair of 
hands to do it; but there was much work done, and 
many a girl in after life could clothe her husband and 
children with much greate- sMU and economy than she 
could have done without this early instruction. 

Ena made herself as useful as she could to Mrs 
Linwood in many little ways, and it was a proud day 
for her when the tired, worried woman allowed her to 
Uke some fifteen of the little girls all to herself. She 
fetched a chair, got a small table to hold the scraps of 
work, needles and cotton, and established herself over 
her 'own class.' Of course, Annie Linwood had a like 
class and equipments at the other end of the room, 
thus leaving Mrs Linwood with some fifty of the elder 
*^ 33 

11 < 


I -1 ■ ! 


'. I 


girls, some of whom could help themselves. The two 
friends continued their classes for many months, teach- 
ing the little ones to hold their needles, and make their 
first stitches. 

Poor Mrs Linwood now became bedridden for a long 
time, and a young person, who was an excellent needle- 
woman, but who knew nothing of discipline, came to 
take her place. Ena and Annie made strenuous efforts 
with the small giris. but the disorder of the elder ones 
was hopeless. They only behaved themselves while 
Mr Linwood marched solemnly through the room, cane 
in hand, and were as bad as ever directly he disappeared. 
When Mrs Linwood returned, the needle work was 
in a dreadful state, she soon however, got it into its 
usual condition ; and things went smoothly on till Ena 
was in her thirteenth year, when Mrs Linwood again 
broke down. 

The young woman who had taken her place before, 
was married, and no one seemed willing to undertake 
the girls and the sewing ; so Ena and Annie tried their 
hands, just while some one was found, but they got 
along so well, nothing more was said of a woman for 
the sewing. The two eldest giris were sent to take 
charge of the right and left wings, as the giris had 
playfully called their classes ; whilst they took their 
seats at the big centre work table. They made some 
serious mistakes, of course, both in cutting out, and 
'fixing' work, and many a gore, gusset or wristband 
was found to be put on other end first, or wrong side 
out, making much unpicking. But Annie went home 


with Ena, and they carried great bundles of work to 
Mrs Howel's cheery room, and spent many an evening 
or Sat"r.3.,;. aft-rnoon. busy and happy, whilst the dear 
old la':> helped them out. 

Job , hid been toi'much occupied of late to find much 
time for .•, o: '■:inr( the rest, and things looked very 
peaceful and pleasant at home. Often, as Ena returned 
to school, during the winter, at a few minutes to two 
o'clock, through the snow, drizzling rain, or dense fog, 
when you could distinguish nothing three feet ahead of 
you, she would look into the cosy parlour, its blazing 
logs making the old mahogany shine ; Grandma dozing 
in her easy chair, over her knitting ; Mamma with a 
rug over her feet, lying on the sofa, a book or paper in 
her hand, and fast asleep. She felt tempted to stay 
with them, the contrast was so great, compared to the 
big, cold, white-washed school-room, its one fire-grate 
fenced round by an iron railing ; but the thought ' I 
have my own living to get,' would send her cheerfully 
off, not to return till six o'clock, an hour after the 
family tea; for she had her own lessons to do after 
school, with the pupil teachers and monitors, as she 
now taught throughout the day. 

The yearly Examinations for Pupil Teachers, came 
in this part of the country, just three days before 
Christmas, and several days before Ena's thirteenth 
birthday. Mr Linwood, in applying to the Examiner 
for permission for Ena to 'sit.' mentioned this to him. 
and he kindly waived the usually strict rule in her 
favour; that is, the rule which provides that all 







^mi'j : 

^^|! t!i: 


!' ' i 


applicants, who wish to take the prelitninaty examina- 
tion for Pupil Teachers, must be thirteen years of age. 

How she studied ! her Grandma looked on in aston- 
ishment at the strength of her resolution. Ena explained 
to her mother, that in case she succeeded at the 
forthcoming examination, she would^ have to go away 
from to be apprenticed, as Mrs Linwood held no 
certificate, and a girl could only be apprenticed to a 
schoolmistress who held one. 

'I suppose you'll suit yourself,' she returned in her 
usual tone of disapproval, 'you've always been head- 
strong ; none of the big ones stand by me, except John. 
Sam is getting almost as bad as you ; and now you're 
going to disgrace me by being a charity schoolmistress.' 

'Mr Hilton says, Mamma, that "work is prayer," so 
long as we strive to do our duty, and that boys and 
girls should learn how to get an honest living, and not 
grow up dependent on their relatives.' 

' I suppose he thinks the fifth commandment doesn't 
matter much. Is Sam going to be a charity school 
master, too ? ' 

' I think not, mamma. Mr Linwood says he writes 
beautifully, and will be an excellent book-keeper, if he 
goes on as he has begun, and Grandma and I 
thought ' 

'That's it, you thought— I'm a mere puppet in my 
own house, no one consults me about anything.' 

' Dear Mamma, didn't you say yourself, years ago, 
that John would be master here by and bye ? ' 

'Of course he will, but that isn't saying that the rest 


of you have to go away. John's a good boy, and won't 
grudge you a home, if you try to please him.' 

'I seldom can please him. Mamma, and Iwould much 
rather earn my own living, then I could help you with 
Hattie and Jessie, you know.' 

' Oh yes ! and make them charity school teachers too, 
I suppose.' 

Ena was about to reply, when she caught her Grand- 
ma's eye, who said, ' Go and fetch my spectacles, Ena, 
I left them by the geraniums, I think.' 

Ena went, and the discussion, which generally took 
the form of a circle when Mrs Hetherington argued, was 




' i 


I * 


Ena established herself in the kitchen with her books, 
where she usually studied in the evening. 'Betsy,' 
she said, as she seated herself on the settle by the 
ingle nook, ' will you get up, and let me have breakfast 
by six o'clock? I'm going to the examination in 
Granston to-morrow, if all is well, and I promised to 
be at the Linwood's at seven ; we shall have to walk 
by the short cut, across the fields to the ferry, for we 
must be in the school-rooms of St Nicholas a little 
before nine, to get our papers.' 

' Well I do say it's a shame. Master John kin hev 
the boss, when he wants to go any place, an' there's 
a siddle bought for en, and a tax to pay on that, but 
you've got to fut it.' 

' I didn't ask for it, Betsy.' 
'You wouldn't a gotten it, an' yer hed.' 
' We shall all walk together, it would be cold driving 
so early,' continued Ena, without noticing Betsy's 
remark. ' I expect I shall have to go at a trot, they are 
all so tall, except poor Sam Hayes, and he can go 
pretty fast, for all his lameness.' 

' I'll git yer brekfus, an' a good en tue. Shall I 
put yer up some lunch an' all 7 ' 



' Please ! ' and Ena was deep in historical dates for 
a few minutes. ' I shall miss you ever so much when 
I'm away, Betsy, you've always been so good to me.' 
Then after a pause, when ' dates ' scarcely formed the 
subject of her thoughts, which seemed to have wandered 
to her own early recollections, she said, ' Do you 
remember the time you wolie me up, when dear Daddy 
was dying ? ' 

' Don't I though ! I must a skared you outen your 
seven senses ! I was skared outen mine.' 

' Seven senses ? why you have only five.' 

' Haint I ? I 'spose yow gotten seven, cos yow 
gotten readin' an' writin' an' I haint,' sniffed Betsy, 
half offended. 

' Oh ! no, we all have only five senses, we are all 
made alike.' 

' Well,' said Betsy, mollified, ' we grow differente- 
one hes larnin' an' one hes work.' 

' It don't matter which, sr> long as we do it as well 
as we can, I'm sure you do, Betsy.' 

'I shouldn't ha stopped long whare yer Grandma 
wus ef I didn't,' returned the matter-of-fact Betsy, 
'she pays me, an' it's her I tek my orders from, an' 
she's a good en' to work fu, ef she is strict; she gen 
me that nice wincy dress last Christmas, an' Jack he 
said es how I looked stunnin' in it.' 

' You're engaged to Jack Andrews, am't you, Betsy ? ' 

'We've kep company this five year, he's a workin' 
up his place, an' puttin' some fruit trees in his land, 
an' I'm a savin' up my wages so es to put in a little 








shop, I think way down them marshes people '11 come 
an' buy little things, instid a comin' all the way up 

' I expect you're right, Betsy ; but he'll have a good 
wife. I don't know what Grandma '11 do without you ? ' 
Betsy laughed consciously, and Ena asked, ' How 
old are you ? ' 

'Twenty-five I reckon. But did you say es you 
wus goin' away frum hum ? ' 

I shall if I'm successful to-morrow, there!' she 
said, putting away her books. ' I can't study to-night 
I feel too restless.' 

Betsy called her at five o'clock next morning, and 
she soon shook off sleep, and dressed herself as neatly 
as she could; painfully aware that when she took off 
her jacket, the material of her dress waist would be 
seen not to match with ner skirt: for mamma had 
bought too little the first time, and then trusted to her 
eye' to match, the result being that one had a grey 
shade and the other a brown. But it was a stout 
wincy and kept her warm. 

All the teachers were waiting at the school-master's 
for her, so they set off at once, Ena walking by the 
master's side, and the rest in groups talking over the 
commg event, the younger ones asking dates, rules 
and so on, from the elder. Tlieir cheeks glowed as 
they went briskly along through the crisp, frosty air 
guided only by the light of the stars. 

Mr Linwood gave Ena some good advice concerning 
her papers, telling her to read carefully the list of 


questions, before answering any, pick out those she 
could do best, and take only those : to write plainly, 
as nothing but plain round hand would be read by 
those correcting the papers, and to be very careful of 
her spelling. 

Arrived at the school-rooms of St Nicholas, Ena 
went to the class-room pointed out to her, and which 
was to serve the giris as a dressing-room, and felt 
quite relieved that no one seemed to notice her dress. 
They had more serious work on hand, for any one of 
those already apprenticed who failed, lost the Govern- 
ment grant of money for the whole year past. 

The examination closed about five o'clock (an hour 
having been allowed at noon for lunch), then Mr 
Linwood and his party returned, as they had come, on 
foot. They reached his home about seven o'clock, 
where a substantial supper awaited them, and they 
all made merry over it, in their youth and good spirits, 
easily forgetting the fatigues and anxieties of the 

Harry and Annie went to Ena's door with her, and 
this much-looked-forward-to day was over. 

They heard in due time that Ena had been successful, 
indeed it had never chanced that one of Mr Linwood's 
teachers had failed. ' Now we must look for a school 
where I can be apprenticed,' she said to Grandma. 

' Another year will be time enough for that, child.' 

' You see I shall have to be apprenticed five years, 
that will make me eighteen; then two years at the 
training-college. You see I shall be able to help 



I : 


j i 


Eltn::,^'" -"-'•—'- --Hen 

soJ^ci '''"•'?"' °"'"'""''' ^'"''^'■"« E"" »ver her 
spectacles. youVe certainly thought it all out; too 
o^d for your years. Ena. too old!' and she fell to 

get much money for our fruit lasc year, and some of 
the tenants haven't paid up their rents yet; then my 
money ■„ the "funds-only brought twLnd-half^ 
cent But you must have decent clothes to go with, 
and I was thinking, if I got you some Hannel and 
caLco. we could go on and make your things, and the 
plainest parts might be done at school.' 

Dear Grandma! that is just like you to think of all 
that, you re always doing something for me.' 

I mean to keep on till you can help yourself, if the 
i-ord spares me. and you're a good girl ' 

unf*'l^"'''u'"'"'"' """' ^ ^'''' ^°' these two 
understood each other perfectly. 

Ena kept on in the house school, nothing being 
settled, although they had corresponded wUh thf 
principals of several schools. 




One morning, being rather late, Ena took a short cut 
across some fields, and several small children were 
trudging along with her, when she heard some one 
shouting excitedly, and looking in the direction from 
whence came the voice ; she saw a bull, head down, 
careering towards them. She could easily have 
returned, and crossed the wide ditch by the single 
plank over which they had come, for she was light, and 
could run like a deer, but the three or four little ones 
clinging to her skirts, must be thought of She saw 
her best plan was to make, with as much speed as 
possible towards the man who was running in their 
direction, with a pitchfork in his hand. They now 
fom-od a triangle, the shortiir side being themselves 
and the man, and a few seconds would decide their fate. 
On came the bull from one direction, the man and 
pitchfork from another, Ena and the terrified little 
ones from the third. They were getting to close 
quarters, the children from fright and want of breath, 
could run no more. Ena put them behind her, and faced 
the bull ; he hesitated, and they were saved, for a sharp 
prick from the pitchfork decided him, and he went 
bellowing off, followed by the man. 



ii ti 





prayer, ; a, .he generally played the hymn .ung upon 

leswns and Ena had tried her best to profit by them. 
She fc u rather tremulous and shaken for a .hile. but 
^e told no one of the morning's adventure; it only 

Enl t ?."■ '■""'• ^'"'' " •""^''^ °"«' "'''' Miss 

totL"°°!'.^u ^T'^ «*^' ''" " '«'«^' a"d 'Old her 
to show .t to her Mother and Grandma. It was from 
a relative of the old clergyman's, who had highly 
recommended Ena for a school near Reading 

Eight shillings a week seems a great deal to pay 
and washing besides,' grumbled Mrs Hetherington. 

I shall payfor her, if I'm spared, till she can support 
herself.' returned Mrs Howel. quietly. 

'In that case I've nothing to say. only I'd like to 
know who's to find clothes and books L her ? I 

a^v ofl \ 'T "^^ ^°"'^"'' P'"=h herself for 

to ,^ , r* ". '"" '■''''=='"' '•"" ^''^ had helped 
to spoil her. and only said cheerfully. 'Ena and I 
have made most of the outfit already, there are only 
a dress or two for best, and some small things that 
are easily obtained.' 

'I knew that there was something very secret going 



on lately, with you and Ena shut up together In the 
best parlour so much. Well, mother, you two always 
have your own way. If there's any truth in a saying, 
youll be sure " to live long." You are doing as you 
like with Ena, I shall do as I like with John.' 



1 1' I 




Fifth of May, seven o'clock in the morning, saw Ena on 
the platform of the Cranston station, ticket in hand, and 
luggage .towed away, saying good-bye to her mother 
who had spent the night in Cranston with her, for fear 
of missing the early train for Shoredltch, London. It 
was a bright, sunny morning ; the third class carriage 
was pretty well filled. Ena, from her corner, kissed 
her hand to her mother; and, with a trembling, but 
courageous heart, left what of childhood she had 
known behind her, as the bell rang, and the parlia- 
mentary train started on its tedious journey She 
curled herself closely into her corner, and watched the 
various occupants of the carriage who were within her 
range of vision. 

There was a big, fat woman with a faded green 
cotton umbrella clutched in both hands, sitting guard 
over three bundles, two band boxes, a basket of sundries 
and many little parcels done up in pieces of newspaper 
too small for them, these were consUntly bursting out, 
and requiring attention, besides being counted at every 
station. ' 

A threadbare, half-blind man, accompanied by a 
young girl Ena thought extremely lovely, in her plain 



brown Undsay suit, and broad hat of the same quiet 
shade. She loolced round upon her fellow-travellers, 
however, with a lofty air of contempt, and seemed to 
answer the man, whom she called ' Papa,' with great 

A servant girl going to her ' place ' in London, and 
smartened up with much bright ribbon. A man with a 
banjo under his arm, and a very high collar, the points 
of which hung limply down. Some mechanics with 
their baskets of tools ; and opposite Ena, travelling 
backwards to escape the wind, dust and smoke from 
the window, an elderly Jewish lady, whom she knew to 
be the. wife of a rich jeweller, whose magnificent display 
was one of the sights of the ' High Street,' so called 
from a peculiar rise which occurred about half way of 
its length, and which the shops followed on either side. 
It was really a bridge over a tributary of the Ouse, and 
had been built for the accommodation of the 'lighters' 
or heavy barges that passed along laden v-ith coal to 
and from some of the mills, breweries, and coal wharves 
situated beyond it. She was doubtless travelling third 
class for economy's sake, for Ena had heard Grandma 
talk of the miserly way in which they lived, compared 
to their wealth, in order to save money for the purchase 
of land in Palestine. He had been to see his wife off, 
wearing the same tall hat of white beaver, with the 
hair rather long and curly upon it, Ena could remember 
since she had been able to remark anything. 

Her Grandma had instructed her to speak to no one 
but the guard on the train, and ask directions of no one 





except a policeman, even then to make a mental note of 
his number. She had not noticed a little man, with 
long white hair, in a quakerish suit and broad brimmed 
hat, who sat in line with her, so she was startled when 
an insidious voice at her elbow said, 'Going far, young 
woman? ' She didn't exactly like to be called 'young 
woman,' and looked at him very seriously. He smiled 
reassuringly, and repeated the question, this time sub- 
stituting 'miss' for 'young woman.' 
To School, Sir ! ' she answered briefly. 
' Ha ! to school, I should think a handsome young 
woman like you, had done with all that kind of thing. 
I'm going out to Americay now, and I'm going to take 
a whole ship load ot good people along; how would 
you like to be one of the party 7 Oh ! yes,' he continued, 
noticing her look of surprise, ' you'd soon find a husband 
you would, with your good looks.' 

To say that Ena 'couldn't believe her own ears,' is 
saying little for the bewilderment she felt. Looking 
across at the Jewish lady, she found her paying close' 
attention, although in the rattle and bang of the train 
she could scarcely have distinguished the words. But 
the astonishment and disgust on Ena's face was easily 
read. The giri said nothing, but rose and placed her- 
self beside the elderly lady. At the next station the 
man. who was a Mormon Elder, got out, doubtless to 
try his powers of persuasion on others. All through 
that hot and dusty journey Ena sat by her, she felt 
safer there, and although neither spoke, she knew the 
good lady understood her. 


It had been arranged that the schoolmistress, who 
had been spending her Easter vacation in London with 
her relatives, should meet Ena at Shoreditch Station. 
She loolied out of the carriage with a sickness of loneli- 
ness, at the surging crowd down on the platform. She 
noticed a small, brisk woman making her way to the 
lugguge van, single out her boxes, and stand by them ; 
that was to be the sign by which Ena should know her. 
She hurried to her. 

'You are Ena Hetherington ? ' she asked sharply as 
the girl came up. ' I'm Miss Hatford, Mr Kobin wil' 
send to meet us at the Reading Station ; we shall be 
home by tea-time, if we catch our train. 

'Here porter! this box to a cab, for London Bridge, 
quick ! ' Turning to Ena, ' Take your hat box yourself,' 
and she hurried after the porter. 

Ena looked up and met the kind eyes of the Jewish 
lady, who smiled and nodded to her. She seemed 
satisfied that her silent charge had fallen into the right 
hands ; then she left the station, followed by a footman 
in livery, and got into a sumptuously appointed carriage, 
where sat a lady so like herself, Ena concluded they 
must be sisters. 

Miss Hatford hurried the cabman through the 
crowded streets. It was wonderful to Ena that their 
wheels were not locked with others a dozen times. 

A block ! every vehicle held back by the raised hand 
of a policeman, while streams of pedestrians hurried 
ovi'r the crossing. 

'Cabby ! I'll give you a shilling extra, if you get us 
D 49 





to London Bridge in time for the train,' called Miss 
Hatford, leaning out of the cab window. 

'Alright, Mum,' returned Cabby, and he followed up 
every advantage. Presently they were free again, and 
he whipped up his old jaded horse, till Ena shivered as 
the blows fell on its poor bones. 

On the bridge I what a wonderful sight for a country 
girl, they were over it far too soon to satisfy her 
curiosity. She glanced at Miss Hatford, who was 
studying her intently. The scenes through which they 
passed had no novelty for her. She pointed out to 
End the Embankment, the Houses of Parliament, and 
the Dome of St Paul's. To Ena, what wonderful mazes 
of masonry, what splendour and squalor, pleasure and 
pain, fine clothes and dirty rags, side by side. How 
the moving masses of humanity, going in each direction, 
never jostling each other, but all minding their own 
business, going their own ways, neither caring, nor 
noticing what others were doing, enjoying, or suffering. 
All this consciously or unconsciously impressed itself 
upon Ena's mind, as she sat looking out of the cab 
window, and came back to her with added meaning in 
after years. 

Miss Hatford was thinking to herself ' My first pupil 
teacher! Looks as if she had a will of her own, she'll 
find her match right here now, if she is the tallest.' 

They got out at London Bridge Station. Miss 

Hatford took her luggage from the cloak room, Ena's 

was brought up by a porter, and tickets obtained, in 

what seemed to the country girl's inexperience, a 



marvellously short time. They had but just taken their 
seats in the afternoon express, when off they went, over 
house tops and streets, till they emerged into the open 
country. Here were whole fields of sage, thyme, rose 
trees and lavender bushes, beside vegetables of all 
descriptions, cultivated for the London markets. 

They were in Reading at 3.30, and there, outside the 
station, stood Mr Kobin's low carriage, with a tall up- 
standing horse, who looked as if he would step over 
the traces every time he raised his feet. 

Ena thought Miss Hatford's introduction of her to 
the coachman quite superfluous, and wondered at her 
familiar greeting to him, quite as if he was an old friend. 

A carrier came and enquired 'Any luggage. Miss?' 
but he didn't touch his hat, as a carrier at home would 
have done. 

' Here ! Well, what's your name again ? Ena ! 
Such a fancy name,' she said, turning to the coachman, 
who laughed. ' Go and show this man our boxes, and 
look sharp, or we shan't wait for you,' adding as she 
settled herself in the seat beside him, ' I don't believe 
in keeping a dog and barking myself.' At which they 
both laughed outright, and were still enjoying the 
subtlety of the joke, when Ena returned. 

'Climb up into that back seat, and hold on, we 
don't drive like old cabby.' Ena jumped lightly in but 
began to wish she had not left her lunch in the railway 
carriage at Shoreditch, for she had eaten nothing since 
her early breakfast, and felt worn and faint. 

' Pretty stuck-up-ish ! ain't she ? ' said the coachman 





by way of conversation, as he jerked his thumb over 
his shoulder in Ena's direction. 

'ni take it out of her, never you fear," she returned, 
vfith her strong cockney accent, she didn't exactly 
leave out her h's, and put them in where they didn't 
belong, but there was a hint of it, in ail she said. 

However, the part of the country through which they 
drove was lovely, up and down among the Chiltern 
Hills, through woods almost dense enough in places 
to shut out the sunshine, in others it filtered through 
the nuttering leaves, and lay in an intricate network 
over everything. Again on a hill, and there lay miles 
of country, spread out before you in field, orchard and 
park, with cottage, farmhouse, and country mansion, 
all bathed in the sun's red afternoon glow : a new and 
delightful experience toEna, who had been accustomed 
to the Norfolk and Lincolnshire fens and marsh- 

They drove into pretty, but not very pretentious 
Parsonage grounds by the back gate, up to a side door 
which led to the servant's hall, and were taken into 
the kitchen for tea. The Linwoods never went with 
the servants at home, and M. Miller would never have 
thought of asking the Hetheringtons to do so. In 
fact Mrs Hiller and her father's mother had been at 
the same boarding-school, and had always been friends. 
Mrs Linwood, too, was a well-educated woman, the 
only daughter of well-to-do parents; and as Miss 
Hertford joked and gossiped and laughed loudly with 
the servants, listening eagerly to what they had to tell 


her, Ena could not help contrasting her with the 
refined wife of the school-master, and scarcely to her 
advantage. Miss Hatford, whose wits were keen 
enough, seemed to perceive something of this, for she 
said to her, ' Go over to our rooms in the gardener's 
cottage, and see they are ready; I shan't come over 
till after supper.' 

' Good shet, to bad nibbige ! ' said cook with her nose 
in the air.'as Ena closed the door behind her. ' Thinks 
her's too good for the kitchen; I'd like to see her, 
when Missus ketches right on her.' 

'Leave her to Hattie,' suggested the house-maid, 
' I'll engage she'll fetch her down a peg or two.' 

Miss Hatford, or 'Hattie,' as she was familiarly 
known in the servants' hall, expressed her readiness to 
do this, and they resumed their gossip 

Thus dismissed Ena found her way out, but went 
round the wrong side of the house, and came suddenly 
upon Mr Kobin sitting listlessly in the shade of a 
small rustic summer-house, evidently tired and dis- 
spirited. She had just time to notice his big, strong 
frame (he had been on; of the athletes of his Uni- 
versity) his small dark head, and swarthy face, when 
he looked up and saw her, as she turned quickly to 
retrace her steps. 

'Oh! come here!' he called out gruffly, but not 
unkindly, ' let me see, what is your name ? ' 

'Miss Hetherington ! ' she returned, making the 
pretty courtesy she had been taught at the young 
ladies' school in Granston. 






He looked at her meditatively. 'Miss Hatford met 
you in London?' 
'Yes, Mr Kobin, thanlt you ! ' 
' I think you should say, Sir ! when you address me," 
he said stiffly. He had worked hard to gain his 
position, and he could dispense with no whit of his 
dignity. Wlien a poor curate, on one hundred pounds 
a year, he had met a maiden lady, much his senior, 
who had settled quite a handsome income upon him 
for her lifetime, had married him, and kept house upon 
the six or seven hundred she had left. Her father 
had been somewhat of a miser, and had accumulated 
his fortune in the back street of a large city, his 
business sign being three brass balls over the door; 
and here the present Mrs Kobin had lived till some 
forty years had passed over her head; when her 
respected parent was good enough to pass away, and 
leave her his sole hwress. But she was no novice in 
money affairs, as she had assisted him, and knew all 
about the investments, when they came into her 
possession. This lady had been described over the 
servants' tea, by the coachman, the only man-servant 
in the house, as 'a lady as could drive a boss, a man 
or a divil.' As Ena turned and saw a small withered 
old lady approaching she knew it must be Mrs Kobin, 
and she thought the man could have added, 'girls and 
women ' to his category of creatures over which her 
driving power might extend. 

She put up her glass and examined the girl slow.y 
from head to foot, several hairy moles upon her throat 


and chin coming into prominence as she did so. She 
enumerated audibly the articles of dress first. 'H'ml 
Golden brown and cream striped mohair dress, black 
tweed jacket with collar, cuffs and pocket of velvet, 
same colour ; black straw hat trimmed with same, kid 
gloves and kid boots.' The gloves Ena held in her 
hand, they were the only things she had taken off for 
tea. Miss Hatford had thrown off her things and 
seemed quite at home. 

Mrs Kobin continued her inspection. ' Hair golden 
brown, plaited a la mode ; colourless complexion j large 
grey eyes, not a very small mouth ; and a broad, rather 
stubborn chin ; looks rather conceited, must be kept in 
her place.' All this just as deliberately as if she was 
looking over a cow jr a horse she intended to buy. 
Mr Kobin exhibited neither surprise nor impatience, 
but sat with half-closed eyes, in perfect indifference. 
Poor Ena's cheeks were not colourless now, as the old 
lady lowered her glass, dropped upon the seat by her 
husband, and said, 'Ah! the pupil teacher from 
Norfolk, I suppose ? ' 

' From Skifton, Mrs Kobin.' 

' What I ' sharply ejaculated Mrs Kobin. 

Ena thought she might be a little deaf, so repeated a 
little louder, 'from Skifton.' 

' I heard you, make your courtesy and say " Ma'am," 
when you are speaking to me.' Then she raised her 
glass again, and closely scanned the address of a letter 
she held in her hand. 

Ena hardly knew whether to go or stay, but seeing 



one absorbed in hi. weary reverie, and the other 
engaged upon the envelope of a letter, .he concluded to 
go. and leave the dismal looking pair to mar the beauty 
of the bnght nowers and the brilliant sunshine • a dull 
day ^th sleet and rain drifted against the window 

•Hetherington!' called Mrs Kobin shrilly, she 
evidently had been near enough to hear the name when 
her husband had enquired it. Ena returned, her eyes 
bright and her colour high. 

'Don't go till I tell you, and I might as well say at 
.once, Hetherington' (she had seen that the surname 

TZt \'"'' '"' "'^^"^ ■' accordingly, 'putting 
on the thumb screw' was one of her delights). 'I shall 
allow no airs with me whatever your master, yes, your 
master.' she repeated. 3. Ena made an involuntary 
gesture, may choose to do. Now. make your courtesy, 
and say I beg your pardon. Ma'am." ' 

'I-I didn't know I had done anything wrong.' 
KoWr ' '"' '"' ""^'•' enquiringly to Mr 

'Oh! you needn't look to him to take your part 
You say you re only thirteen, you look a deal more 
like sixteen.' 

thou^^"^ *'"' '"'' **■■"'"' "'■'^ '°°S' '^- 

.u '^'T'*' '^"^ ' ''°"'' '"'"' '° ^""^ what your Granny 
thought. Did Hatford send you on a message?' "^ 
Miss Hatford told me to go and see if our rooms 


were ready, Mrs, I mean Ma'am; and I didn't know 
which way to go, I'm sorry I came the wrong way.' 

'Well, go and do as Hatford told you, I see I can 
trust her not to pamper you.' 

Ena made her courtesy and departed ; the situation 
had been somewhat painful certainly, but it had 
bordered too much on the extreme, not to have iu 
ludicrous side. 

' Please show me the gardener's cottage,' she said to 
a stable boy she encountered. 

'Crickey! yis, I'll show yer, on top coach 'us, up 
them steps, gardener's cottage he's there.' Ena turned 
away. He stepped in front of her, 'Be you new 
teacher? Yis? I bet a bob we's sweet-arts,' and he 
thrust his crimeful, evil looking face so close to hers, 
she drew hastily back in disgust. A sound box on the 
ear from a heavy hand, made him jump off his feet, as 
a gruff voice said, 'Stop that now, you reformitary brat, 
and get about yer work ! ' turning to Ena the man said, 
' Here's the gardener's cottage 'ouse. Miss,' as he 
thrust his arm through a circular hole in a high board 
fence, and opened a gate which disclosed a cottage, 
standing in a vegetable garden, with some tall trees near 
it. It was the gardener himself; and his large family 
were thus cut off from 'the grounds,' as the sight of 
children upset the delicate organisation of Mrs Kobin. 

Ena knocked timidly at the door; her reception had 
been so different to her anticipation, so unlike her treat- 
ment at home, where her family, though poor, were 
held in great respect, if only as a remnant of past 

i ( 


■• : 


standing. She knew how little the dear old clergjinan 
and his wife there would think of sending her into their 
kitchen, though moat of their servants had grown grey 
in their service. When she had gone to say ' good-bye," 
they were sitting over their dessert, and had made her 
sit down with them and take some of the early straw- 
berries, the dainty little old lady was dipping pounded 
loaf sugar, and enjoying leisurely, as they talked 
pleasantly and kindly to her, telling her of her grand- 
mother Hetherington ; and when she came away pre- 
senting her with a handsome 'Church Service' with 
her name written in it by Mr Miller's tremulous, but 
dear old hand. It all passed before her, as she waited 
at the door of the cottage. 

Children's voices outside, no sound within; she 
knocked louder. ' Come in I ' shouted the pleasantest 
voice she had heard since she left home. What a long 
time that seemed, and yet it was only some ten or 
twelve hours since she had stood on the platform in 
Granston and said ' Good-bye ' to her Mamma. ' Come 
in ! ' sang out the voice again, and she made her way 
to the place whence came the sound. A big, bony 
woman, with a clear complexion, very red hair, and 
strong arms, her sleeves turned up, washing the tea 
things ; a troop of healthy children outside, and a dear 
baby cooing up from its cradle, the bright golden rings 
of hair, curling all over its pretty head. 

•What a darling ! ' exclaimed Ena admiringly, as she 
stooped and kissed it. ' May I take it up ? ' She sat 
down with the baby in her lap, and told the good 


woman about her journey, and they were chatting 
pleaaantly enough, when Ena remembered she had 
been sent to set to the rooms. 

She told Mrs Carson this, who returned contemptu- 
ously, 'See to 'er rooms indeed, you be more the lady, 
then 'er; 'tend 'er rooms! hindeed!' Having thus 
expended her wrath upon the absent schoolmistress, 
she changed her tone, and said, 'They be all 'tended to. 
Miss ; there be three rooms in this 'ouse as you he's to 
'ave, till the new school 'ouse is builded by the school. 
You see the school be new, the parsonage be new. the 
gardings be new. and everythink be new. You be to 
board with me till the new 'ouse be made, and I 'tends 
to your room. 'Attie, as the servants up to the 'ouse 
call 'er, boards herself, least ways 'er say 'er do, but 'er 
eats most times right in the parsonage kitchen, and 'er 
keep don't corst 'er notliink to speak on, 'er's good side 
o' cook ; but cook and me don't hitch, so 'cr chucks hout 
all the scraps, and there be no pickin's for me.' 

Ena looked round at the perfect cleanliness of every- 
thing, and asked her how she could do it all. with the 
children so small. 

Presently Mrs Carson brought in a large wash-tub, it 
was Saturday night, called the youngest from outside, 
undressed it. and gave it a good scrubbing down. The 
child seemed used to it, and made no demur : she put 
on its clean night-gown, heard it say its prayers, and 
sent it upstairs to bed. The same process followed 
with several others, the water being changed each time. 
Then the two eldest girls came in. got their own water. 





bathed euh other, Mid their prayer*, and off to bed, 
all like so many loldlera on drill. 

Ena lat there with the baby in her lap, reaUng and 
getUng very sleepy in the warmth of the fire. 

' Now if you be likln' a bath. 111 carry it up for you, 
aaid Mrs Carson as she laid the sleeping babe in its 

Poor Ena 1 so dusty and tired, gladly assented. The 
woman picked up the tub in her strong arms, carried 
it up stairs, took up water, left her a small piece of 
candle, said 'good-night,' and Ena was alone. 

Her first impulse was to ory, but she resolutely put 
back the tears, read a psalm, said her usual prayers, 
took her welcome bath, and had very soon forgotten the 
fatigues and troubles of the day in a sound sleep which 
lasted till morning. 

Miss Hatford spent her evening in the servants' hall 
playing cards, had supper with them, and came to her 
room between eleven and twelve rather stup from 
much beer. 


Ena opened her eyes in the morning on a little white- 
washed room, a table covered with a snowy cloth, a small 
swing mirror upon it. the whole embellished by bright 
wool mats, one on either side, with an empty scent 
bottle planted exactly in the centre of each ; one 
chair; a strip of carpet by the bed, a washstand, and 
an iron camp bedstead painted green and touched up 
with gilding j a white dimity curtain falling on each 
side of the head, from a pole above ; and curtains of the 
same at the small latticed window. All was spotlessly 
clean, which made amends to a girl of her tastes, for the 
scantiness of everything. 

Afier sleepily taking in her surroundings, she jumped 
out of bed, and proceeded to take note of the outdoor 
arrangements as seen from an upper window. 

Yes, everything was painfully new, nothing old but 
the elms near the cottage ; on all else the morning sun 
shone without a shadow. A few shnibs on either side 
of the drive to the front door of the parsonage, which 
was built in the Elizabethan style of architecture, as 
were the out-houses and the gardener's cottage. The 
ornamental trees, newly planted, were struggling for 
existence in the reddish soil, so different from the black 
loam of the Fens. 



Grassmore had only lately been raised to the dignity 
of a separate parish, and hundreds of acres of furze 
common hemmed it in on every side, apparently 
irreclaimable. There the Gipsies lay in their picturesque 
camps, and robbed the woods of game, as -well as sticks 
with which to cook it ; while the women went round to 
the houses, told fortunes, sold clothes pegs, baskets, and 
small odds and ends of lace, shoe ties and so on, and 
begged old clothes and broken victuals. 

Ena dressed herself carefully, plaited her hair, its 
shining braids covering the back of her head. Her 
dress was a light grey with neat linen collar and cufis 
of white. 

'Well, to be sure, you be as bright as the morning,' 
was Mrs Carson's greeting. 

A voice called from upstairs, ' Hetherington ! ' Ena 
flushed. Mrs Carson said, ' Don't you go, you beant 
'er servant, and yer brekfas be all ready.' 

Ena went quietly and presented herself. Miss Hatford 
was sitting up in bed, her hair hanging round in a 
dishevelled condition, it was plainly to be seen there 
had been no brushing and plaiting over-night. She 
looked at the girl, and in spite of herself said more 
gently, ' Ena, set my table, and make me some tea and 
toast ready for when I come down.' She had had 
little to do with house work, as Betsy reigned at home, 
and with her mother and grandmother she had been 
accustomed to a nicely, not to say daintily laid table. 

Mrs Carson showed her the room, which was to be 

their joint sitting-room and study. Ena took out a 


badly folded brown cotton tablecloth, and as there was 

no other, she put it upon the little round table. In a 

small chiffonier* she found a cup and saucer and plate. 

apiece of butter on another plate, a home made loaf. 

and a httle jam in a tumbler. She made the tea and 

then the toast, leaving it dry; then she went to her 

own breakfast. They gave her some nicely cut bread 

and butter, a fresh laid egg, a cup of tea without milk. 

and some nice crisp lettuce, on a little table to herself. 

n>e plate and cup and saucer were of china, the cloth 

of white linen, though very old, and she relished her 

breakfast as the young and healthy know how to. She 

would have liked another slice of bread and butter, but 

as Mrs Carson had put everything away and seemed to 

think the supply had been ample, Ena said nothing. 

Miss Hatford had to pass through the Carson's 
general room to go to her little sitting-room. She had 
on a pamfully oright green silk dress, one she had had 
for her sister s wedding two or three years before, and 
ts fnlls and furbelows were out of date ; she said in a 
loud voice, with nevera 'good morning' to the Carsons. 
Bnng m my breakfast, Ena.' 
'Be'ant our cat's ears big,' remarked Mrs Carson in 
a stage whisper, before the door had time to bang 
Carson laughed uneasily, he had witnessed 'tongue- 
bangings.'as he called them between the two women 
which made him uncomfortable. 

Ena carried in the tea and toast. 'Why didn't you 
but..r,. ^.. ,. .u, ,3ked complainingly, 'I suppose it's 

. «- ""O'J, ± 3U(>pOS 

taken in at home in a silver toast rack.' she added 







/ ! 

a mincing air. To which Ena replied, 'Yes, Miss 
Hatford, Betsy always takes it in that way, but I 
couldn't find one.' 

' Did you look ? ' turning round sharply, with her 
mouth full of toast, she asked as well as she could. 
When Ena said 'yes,' she thought it was a capital 
joke, and said she should tell ' cook,' 

Ena went to get ready for Sunday school, which 
commenced at half-past nine. After a few minutes she 
came down in a plain black silk jacket, grey hat, with 
a little mixture of pale green in its trimming, and grey 
kid gloves. She enquired in which direction the school 
lay, and taking up the large keys, went as directed, 
to open the doors, and let the children take their 

They were far rougher and more boorish than the 
Fen children, and extremely unruly, especially some 
of the bigger boys, who were evidently ' farm hands,' 
and only came on a Sunday ; of course they were far 
too manly to be kept in order by a girl, so they leaped 
over the desks to show how little they cared, and 
poor Ena was in fear for the little ones who might 
come in their way. 

They became quiet very suddenly, and much to her 
relief she saw the tall form of Mr Kobin mc-jnting the 
steps from the road, which lay some four or five feet 
lower than the ground upon which the school and 
church were builL 

They all stood as he entered, and he said 'good- 
morning ! ' to Ena pleasantly enough, then he fidgetted 


about waiting for Mrs Kobin to come and play the 
hymn on the harmonium for morning prayers 

Presently he came up to Ena, and showing her the 
hymn begmning. 'The Church's one foundation/ aslced 
if she could play it, adding, 'Mr Hiller said you were 
capable of assisting in the Church music.' She took 
the large hymn-book from the instrument, found the 
hymn and played it with full harmony and great 
correctness. Mr Kobin seemed pleased. Soon after 
Mrs Kobm and Miss Hatford came in together, both 
lookmg annoyed. Mrs Kobin had complained to Miss 
Hatford that her bright colours were unbecoming. 
Her bonnet was of blue with pink roses, certainly 
rather a startling effect combined with a bright green 
dress; but she had thought, as she expressed it. 'that 
now they had a bone to pick between them.' she 'would 
be let alone. 

' Did you have prayers without a hymn, my dear ? ' 
Mrs Kobin asked her husband. 

' Oh ! no. Ena played it.' 

She made no reply, but went to her class with a 
sour expression, for she was very fond of her musical 
attainments, as most poor performers appear to be. 

Miss Hatford called out in a voice loud enough for a 
room ten times as large, 'Ena, marshal the lowest 
division in line, take them on the gallery in the class- 
room, and give them a lesson on the Creation, you'll 
find easles and pictures in there.' 

About ten minutes to eleven, the children marched 
two and two from the school door, by a gate opening into 
the churchyard, where graves were beginning to show 


11 !■ 


themselves by a private path into the little modern 
church, yrith its single bell clanging away discordantly 
from the small turret at the west end, where a man 
sat pulling away at the rope, on a seat by the wall. It 
had a very depressing eifect upon Ena after the ringing 
chimes from the old belfry at home- Then there was 
the harmonium, weakly played by Mrs Kobin, who 
considered all ends served when she played treble and 
bass, never concerning herself with the full harmony of 
voluntary, chant or hymn. How she missed the pealing 
tones of the great pipe organ that Mr Hiller had 
presented to the home church many years before, which 
sent the waves of harmony rolling aloft through the 
time-worn and lofty rafters, and among the arches and 
pillars of that grand old pile, [the church of St Qement's 
at Skifton. 

The choir consisted of three men ; the bass, looking 
through enormous spectacles, and making a great 
display of his music-books, as though he thought every 
one else ought to be as astonished as he was, to think 
he knew anything about them, rolled out his deep and 
unctuous, but somewhat unruly voice ; an unassuming 
tenor, who sang very correctly, but in an extremely 
thin voice ; and the third, a man who led the trebles 
(some boys and girls), by 'ear' ! No one could com- 
pUin that the beauty of the music distracted their 
attention from the solemnity of the service. 

But the prayers were the same, and the home feeling 

they brought to the lonely child, made the tears spring 

to her eyes. ' Dear Grandma is saying the same, and 

thinking of me I know,' she said to herself, and as the 



service proceeded she gained strength and resolution 
to meet the trials and humiliations which lay before her 
I wont give up, God helping me. Ill fight it through.' 
and not disappoint her.' she said over and over again 
as she thought of the dear old lady. 

It was evident some of the families from the country 
seats. Ena had noticed nestling among the trees, were 
there. They eyed the ' new teacher ' closely, and one 
lady said to another, 'that poor child will have a bad 
time of it with Mrs Kobin. she's far too bright and 
pretty to suit her.' They all knew how jealously Mrs 
Kobm guarded against anything 'bright and pretty.' 
and knew that poor Mr Kobin paid a heavy penalty for 
his (as he had thought) easily acquired wealth. 



With all her vulgarity, Miss Hatford was a clever 
teacher, and Ena soon found herself making a very 
different progress to that with the good school-master, 
who had always excused badly prepared lessons on 
account of music to practise, or school needle-work to 
be prepared for next day, and Harry, who had taken 
his 'fifth year' papers when she had token hers as 
candidate, had worked out her knotty mathematical 
points, with more kindness than discretion; and had 
always been her staunch friend ever since she had 
told upon herself, and not on him, about the torn 

He had been studying Latin and Greek with the 
curate at Skifton, and was to enter at St Augustine's, 
Canterbury, to read for Holy Orders, and become a 
missionary. It was astonishing what a 'power of 
words ' the lad had, and when he would give a lecture, 
as they called a short address, at one of the weekly 
' Penny Readings ' the elders would shake their heads, 
and tell each other how they ' remembered him, when 
he was a little chap in petticoats.' He was as full of 
fun as ever, but a good, hard-working boy. He was 
quite a good organist too, all his studies seemed to come 

to him so easily, but being both clever and industrious, 


and likewise in sturdy health, it was only likely they 
would. He was the apple of his mother's eye, and she 
encouraged him in all good things, mental, moral, and 
physical ; a mother to be remembered with love and 
reverence through life. 

Ena felt the lack of refinement in her surroundings and 
the people among whom she was thrown, keenly; but 
she would tell herself it wouldn't last long, each week 
took her nearer her goal ; and being but an innocent child 
she wondered at their petty jealousies, and small spites. 
The long harvest holidays were now approaching, it 
was the beginning of July, the first Saturday in August 
would see her off for home. She counted the weeks 
and days, almost the hours, till that joyful time should 

In the meantime, another trial awaited her. As Miss 
Hatford and she sat at lessons after school in the little 
sitting-room Mr and Mrs Kobin entered, looking as 
though weighty matters were on the tapis. Ena rose 
and placed chairs, Mrs Kobin seated herself, but care- 
fully avoided looking at the girl, and Miss Hatford had 
evidently expected them. 

Ah!— Ah!' said Mr Kobin, turning to Ena and 
clearing his voice, which by the way, was rather a 
disappointing one from a man of his stature, being thin 
and powerless, 'Miss Hatford has no doubt prepared 
3'ou for our coming ? ' 

'Oh! no Sir!' returned that individual, seeing an 
opportunity to ingratiate herself with the powers that 
were, 'I felt too much hurt to say a word to her about 





Ena lodced in utonUhment from one to the other, 
what had she done ? she icon found out. 

' You teem to think it is not of much consequence,' 
continued Mr Kobin, addressing Ena, solenmnly, 'I must 
say I had thought better things of you, you— ah '—he 
stammered as his wife cast a sharp glance at him, ' after, 
ah — all our kindness to you, I, ah— cannot speak too 
strongly of the insult you have offered us in return." 
He paused to give his words effect, and then went on 
in the same measured, pompous tone. 'You have 
always treated everyone here as if they were beneath 
you. Miss Hatford says; especially our trustworthy 
servants, and now,' he seemed to choke with the idea, 
'you presume to say unjust and vicious things of us,' 
he was warming to his subject, he turned suddenly to 
Ena and demanded ' Do you deny having done so ? ' 

Thus appealed to Ena stood before them and said, 
' If anything I have done or said since I came here, has 
been taken for pride or rudeness, I am very sorry, as I 
am sure I did not do it intentionally.' 

"That goes round the question,' returned he sharplj-, 
' did you, or did you not say those rude, abominable 
things of us ? ' 

She began to see she was accused of something she 
knew nothing of, and asked if they would tell her what 
she had done to annoy them in particular. 

Mrs Kobin sniffed indignantly, and Miss Hatford 
smiled knowingly. 

'You said that Mrs Kobin was an ugly, jealous old 
woman, and as she couldn't get any one to have her, 
had paid me seven hundred pounds a year to marry her. 


'I couldn't have said that, Sir,' returned Ena 
earnestly, 'for I didn't know Mrs Kobin had given you 
money to marry her.' 

It was an unfortunate speech, for although it carried 
conviction to Mr Kobin, only seemed to irritate his wife. 
'So you expect us to believe such a tale as that, do 
you?' she said spitefully, 'call Mrs Carson, this im- 
pudent girl said it to her 1 ' 

Mrs Carson came in, and Ena looked at her with a 
smile, but was surprised to find she avoided her look. 
She began to wonder, if only half listening to many of 
the unwise things this woman said so frequently, she 
had assented to something of the kind. 

' Now my good woman,' said Mr Kobin, 'just tell us 
word for word what this ah !— girl— said.' 

She repeated the very words Ena had been accused 
of saying, and stood shifting from one foot to the other, 
looking very red and uncomfortable. An extra scream- 
ing and noise from the children gave her an excuse for 
escape. They waited in the silence that followed for 
her return, but as she did not put in an appearance 
they amused themselves by questioning Ena. 

Of course she told them it was all a mistake, she 
had neither said nor thought anything of the kind. 
They were determined not to believe her; so she 
remained silent. When Mr Kobin said, 'Go to your 
room for an hour, and think over this evil speaking and 
lying of yours, and if you are capable of prayer, ask 
God to soften your stubborn heart,' she felt as if the 
third commandment had been broken, and His great 
name taken in vain. 'When you have become re- 

,f, I! 



pentant, I will see you in my study ; till then, for one 
hour, mind, we leave you to your own thoughts.' 

She turned and left them, seeking the shelter of her 
room, feeling stunned and crushed by their injustice, 
and powerless to help herself. She threw herself, face 
downwards, upon her little white bed, and gave way to 
the sobs of grief which shook her frame, and prevented 
her from hearing the opening and closing of the door. 
A hand laid on her head made her start, and looking 
up she saw Mrs Carson standing by. 

' Don't 'ee take on so. Miss Ena, don't 'ee now, it do 
make me feel unkind. I did know 'ee wouldn't tell on 
me. Don't 'ee tell on me deary, 'cause Carson'U be 
turned out o' place, and he be sich a stiddy man, and 
if he be turned away, he'll get no character, and he 
couldn't git another place, and all them poor children 
would be starved, mos'ly gels as they be. I 
hed to say as it he'd you, and I be sure 'ee won't 
tell, but I couldn't look 'ee in the face, so I couldn't,' 
and throwing her apron over her head, she began to 

She rambled on, almost in a whisper, and Ena 
gathered that Miss Hatford, in passing through the 
Carson's room, had overheard this choice piece of 
gossip imparted by Mrs Carson to a neighbour; and 
as we know there was a feud between the two women, 
had immediately told it to the head housemaid, who 
acted as lady's-maid too, and she in her turn, was 
delighted to have such a piece of news to use against 
Mrs Carson. The latter, in her turn, had been 
' carpeted ' as she called being sent for to Mr Kobin's 


study, and to Mve herself, said she was only repeating 
what Ena had told her. 

She again begged of Ena not to tell upon her, and 
as the poor child knew what the consequence to the 
family would be, she promised. 

An hour later, when she entered the study at the 
parsonage and met Mr and Mrs Kobin, she made no 
defence, simply saying, people always believed her at 
home, and she thought when her Grandma knew, she 
would wish her to have the apprenticeship transferred. 
This Mw Hatford would not hear of, as Ena was 
getting very useful both in school and out ; and when 
the house was finished, which would be upon their 
return after the holidays, she intended to have Ena's 
eight shillings per week board money herself; she 
knew she would not be likely to get it from any local 
pupil teacher. 

So that storm blew over, but it left a rankling in 
the heart of Mrs Kobin, who never lost an opportunity 
of making Ena suffer for it. If the choir broke down, 
as it frequently did, it was all Ena's fault, for she 
could sing out if she chose, but she hadn't chosen to ; 
if the responses flagged it was on Ena's side ; and so 
on, indefinitely. But she felt she was suffering in a 
good cause, and had some of the satisfaction of a 
martyr, which feeling seems inherent in some of the 
truest feminine natures, and consoles them for much. 


I t 



ArriR the old Postman, who came Trom Reading on 
foot every morning with the mail, had handed Ena 
a letter, the took from it a small note enclosed for 
Miss Hatford' It was an invitation to spend some of 
her vacations at Skifton. She acknowledged it very 
condescendingly to Ena, and said she would 'see 
about it.' 

' Shall I send any message to Mamma 7 ' asked Ena, 
knowing how Mrs Hetherington would resent any dis- 

' You can say I'll come if I feel like it, and have no 
better place to go to.' 

Her rudeness scarcely surprised Ena, and putting 
the message in as polite a form as possible, she sent 
it home; telling them at the same time the day and 
the hour, she expected to be at Cranston Station. 

When it came to hours, Ena thought the last twenty- 
four would never end. 

A cab had been ordered from Reading to take them 
to meet the half-past seven train to London, and Ena 
was ready long before its arrival. It cost six shillings, 
but each paid half the amount, and the early drive 
through the valleys, and up the hill-sides, covered with 
the ripening corn, sparkling with dew, and bright with 


■UMhine, wu very refreshing, »nd made Ena feel as 
though all the world should be out to en]oy it. 

Arrived at Waterloo Station, Miss Hatford put her 
in a cab, told her how much to pay the cabman, and 
left her to take care of herself. At Shoreditch there 
was a long line of passengers crowding each other 
at the ticket-office, and !=■ n felt afraid if she waited till 
the last the train might -s.rt befo'c ihe had procured 
her ticket. A power.'; I \ -tins R -i»t' -i -.n, whose turn 
it was to pass in n / Ir) inc' ile >ittic ! nee, that pro- 
tected the wickft, -.o i? Iir ;. '. of distress as she 
eyed the long li' j of j-icp.'. .>i:.J; ruom in front of 
him, and allowed liei m pi^s '.r. next. It was an 
express train, and wouio be ..i r, nr.ston shortly before 
four o'clock. 

The gentleman overtook ner on the platform, and 
said, * You travel a long way alone for one so young 
and inexperienced.' 

* Yes sir,' she said shyly, ' and thank you for letting 
me get my ticket first, I was so afraid I shouldn't be in 
time, and I don't know where any one lives in London.' 

' I saw you were afraid,' he returned laughingly. 
' Here porter 1 label this young lady's luggage, and put 
her in a compartment by herself.' 

The porter touched his hat respectfully, and did as 
he was told. The gentleman nodded to Ena, and got 
into a first-class carriage himself. 

What a pleasant journey to Ena, alone in her com- 
partment, which the guard had locked ; everything wore 
a holiday aspect, and neither dust, smoke nor noise 
could annoy her. 



A ' compartment ' of an English railway carriage 
consists of a space divided off from the width of the 
carriage from side to side, containing in the Second 
class a long seat, also from side to side, upholstered 
on the seat and partly up the back, as high as the 
head would reach, in cloth or leather ; each limited to 
five persons who sit facing each other, and with a 
door opening on either side, from which to reach the 
platform and which door is always securely locked by 
the ' Guard ' before leaving a station. 

Arrived at Granston, there was Mamma to meet her, 
and the familiar Joggy waiting patiently in the station 
yard. The tall gentleman who had been kind to Ena in 
London, took off his hat to Mrs Hetherington, and said 
pleasantly, ' I was sure that was a Hetherington's face, 
and looked after her for you, she was alone at 
Shoreditch ; I'd see she had an escort next time, if I 
were you, Mrs Hethenngton.' 

'Why, that is Sir Ilichard Bent. All our folks 
always voted for him, you know, we are staunch 
Conservatives,' and she raised her head proudly, she 
hadn't the least idea of what was meant by the term. 
' But what did he mean by saying you were alone at 
Shoreditch, I thought your governess was with you. I 
must speak to her, when she comes.' 

Ena smiled at her mother's idea of Miss Hatford, and 

that person's idea of herself: and excused her by 

saying, ' Miss Hatford was in a hurry to meet her 

friends, so she put me in a cab, and told me what to do, 

and you see Mamma, here I am safe and sound.' 

But Mrs Hetherington didn't seem quite satisfied, 



and wanted to continue the subject. Ena was stroking 
Joggy's black nose, and stiining neck, ' You don't know 
how hungry I am, Mamma ! and so thirsty ! I've had 
nothing since five o'clock this morning, and then I was 
too excited to eat much ; couldn't we go to the pastry 
cook's and get some of those nice tarts, and a glass of 
lemonade. I used to think of that shop sometimes, and 
it made me feel hungry.' Truth to tell, Mrs Carson 
never over-fed her, and she generally felt on rising 
from her little table, that she could have eaten more ; 
but the good woman always assumed she had had an 
enormous appetite to have consumed what had been 
provided, and she felt a little uncomfortable at leaving 
empty plates. 

So away they went, Ena chatting and laughing in 
almost uncontrollable good spirits. Mrs Hetherington 
allowed her to choose whatever she wished, and after 
a hearty lunch they turned homewards, and the dusty, 
sunny road seemed a perfect 'haven of rest,' after the 
constant and petty trials of the past few months, which 
to her sensitive nature had been nothing less than one 
long torture. 

She drove Joggy herself, and under the influence of 
her good spirits, and a touch or two of the whip, his 
jog was a little quicker than usual. 

"There's the Church Tower!' she exclaimed, when 
they were about half-way home, for it reared its eighty 
feet of masonry above the surrounding country. Ay ! 
a tower which had stood through storm and sunshine 
for centuries, and from which its chime of bells has sent 
forth wild music, carried hither and thither by the 



boisterous gales that blow off the coast, when the yule 
log is blazing, and the families are gathered together for 
their Christmas or New Year festivities, while on the 
raging waters of this perilous coast many a mariner, with 
memories of such cheer in his heart, toils at the icy 
ropes, and often, alas I only too often perishes in the 
heaving waters, or still more treacherous Goodwin 
Sands. But come to this tower on some clear summer's 
day, and climb its gloomy, corkscrew stairway of well- 
worn stone, where doubtless many a monk has trodden 
in days gone by, and whose influence still works around 
you till you almost fancy you see the ' cowled head ' 
passing in at some dark entrance. Wind on, and on, 
your light coming in from an occasional unglazed loop- 
hole in the thick masonry, which only serves to reveal 
the gloom, the cobwebs large and shadowy like the 
wings of some evil one spread in the corners, the very 
particles of dust which rise and float round you mayhap 
are some of the component parts of those very monks of 
yore. Now emerge suddenly upon the summit in the 
broad light of day, where you stand blinking and rubbing 
your eyes, trying to regain the use of them, and as that 
sense returns your fancies of a few moments before 
vanish, and you survey from your vantage ground the 
panorama spread before you of flat alluvial land, even 
as the top of a table, the fields, farmhouses, orchards, 
clumps of trees, ditches innumerable, a few hedgerows, 
church spires, steeples, and towers scattered over the 
land, (none equalling in height, size, or age the one 
upon which you stand) ; the sails of the wind-mills 
leisurly turning, some to grind the corn, others to pump 


the water from the large drains, over the dykes, into 
the Wash or the Ouse ; the long lines of dusty roads 
shining whitely in the sun, the ' old Roman Bank,' as 
they call it, covered with grass, and rising some twenty 
feet above the surrounding country, being a remnant 
of the old road built by the Romans. Then cast your 
eyes upon the waters, which sparkle so peacefully in 
the sunlight, looking too innocent to be capable of the 
tragedies they hide, and you see the ships passing to 
and fro from the harbour, their sails spread and filling 
to the breeze, or the long line of smoke, like a blot upon 
the fair scene, which marks the track of a steamer. Ay ! 
it is a goodly sight on a summer's day from this old 
tower of St Clement's Church. 

'There's the school 1 ' again exclaimed Ena, jumping 
up in her excitement, as she saw Mrs Linwood outside, 
waving her handkerchief to them as they turned the 

Once more home! and jumping down by the dear 
old-fashioned house, running in and hugging Grandma 
till the tears came, kissing the little ones. Oh I how 
happy she was ! Sam looked shyly on refusing 
the proffered kiss, and John shouted from hia tree- 

BeUy was delighted to see her, and had prepared 
such a delicious 'high tea,' Ena was hardly able 
to do justice to it, after her lunch at the pastry 

Ena soon found John was more unruly than ever, had 
refused to go to school because Mr Linwood had caned 
him for something, which no doubt he had deserved, 


and had kept Sam home with him. Their long holidays 
were now on, so she resolved to try her powers of 
persuasion on them before she went back to Grassmore, 
especially as she found the home school would begin a 
week before her own. 


That night Mrs Linwood and Annie, Bessie Freeman 
and Mattie Flint, a very tall ^rl for her age and a 

a second-hand Broadwood piano when Ena was taking 
mus,c lessons, had bought it. and given it to her for 

Schottiche, when a sudden silence ensued; looking 
over her shoulder she saw her Mamma. co<^u S^ 
hoId,ng up one corner of her apron, and tripping ou^ 
some pretty steps of her girlhood. They all clappS 

w ^ she s^pea for want of breath, an'd beg St; 
more. L was such an unwonted performance on the 
P« of Mrs Hetherington. that Grandma laughed 
b^nd her, nver-rimmed spectacles, till she had to take 
tftem off to wipe away the tears. 

They sang their nki songs, played their old duets 
ate nu,s and fruit, azri drank a little home-made cui^Ini, .hen tired out, dispersed at half past ten. de g" S 
tor^r^^M"!'"^""""'^^'^^' ^««-'^P--omised 

^emt. • '°'''^'"«'^' ^°'"^^y "O^ins ^und 

nem there at o'clock, but Ena was not yet down. 
o they all trooped upstairs to her room, and squatig 

- vanous attitudes on the bed. they discussed with 

becoming gravity, the proposed picnic. 



The sands they wished to go to were some seven 
miles off. En» wM to take Joggy, Bessie also had a 
little pony carriage. Mattie's brother, a young doctor, 
had a horse and gig, but that was out of the quration, 
for said Mattie, with lively recollections of that animal's 
capers, 'He is so spirited, I'm afraid to ride behind 
him with Alf, and we could do nothing with him ; then 
♦he gig would only hold three, if we crowded ever 


Ena's two brothers and sisters must go, half-a-dozen 
or so of Annie's young brothers, and Bessie's lame 
sister. 'Ut's see, how many will that be?' They 
counted up fifteen at least. Seven or eight could go in 
the waggonette, and four in Bessie's carriage ; but that 
left a possible four or five still to be provided for, and 
then there wo-e the provisions. 

' Gent will lend us his donkey cart, and we can put 
the rest of them in that,' and then cried the giris as 
they sprang to their feet, 'Ho! for the sands, the salt 
water, and the samphire!' 

They ran downstairs, and Ena jumped out of bed, 
took a cold dip, and was soon among them, bright and 
merry, a very different girl to the old-looking serious 
Ena Grassmore was familiar with. 

This was Monday morning, they decided to have their 
picnic on Wednesday, if all was well, and then they 
could make their cakes to-morrow. 

They agreed as to what eacl- should provide, stayed 
for the one o'clock dinner .oitered and chatted and 
whiled away the afternoon in croquet under the trees ; 
then Annie persuaded Ena to go with her to tea, 



promising to come with one of her httle brothers and 
see her home in the evening. 

Next day the girls were busy making cakes and pie«, 
bread and buns, sausage rolls and tea cakes, and each 
had a pretty well stocked hamper. A kettle for tea 
a large stone jar for milk, and a cup and plate for each 
completed the arrangements. They intended to sugar 
and milk their tea right in the big kettle, and pour it 
out as they required. Grandma said she thought Betsy 
ought to go with them to look after things. Betsy 
pleaded much work, and indeed she was right for 
Ena's clothes needed a good bit of washing. She'said 
she never knew Miss Ena to "dish" her clothes out 
like It before.' They had no idea of the menial work 
the poor child had been put to. even lighting the school 
fires and sweeping out. when the elder girls were un- 
willing to do it. She did not tell them this, judging 
rightly, that the work did her no harm, besides spoiling 
her clothes, and leaving her absolutely no time for the 
practice of her music. 

Her Grandma made inquiries about the music, and 
finding she had had no practice, said she should see 
she had a teacher upon her return, and write to Mr 
Kobin and make arrangements about time for it as well 
as practice. The old lady had been delighted with the 
progress made by her granddaughter, and did not intend 
her to lose the benefit of it, 

Bessie Freeman now came bounding in. too excited 

to wait for her knock to be answered. 'Oh' Mrs 

Howel. Eliza and her husband came in from Newcastle 

this afternoon, and James says he wants to go too, to- 


\ I 



morroyr, and no does Eliza, and I came to see if you 
would mind.' 

"That's just what I wanted,' and the dear old lady 
breathed a sigh of relief, ' I was afraid to let all you 
hair-brained young creatures go out the entire day on 
those dreadful marshes. I'm always imagining you 
getting into a quicksand; and then you know such 
niles of tide come up all at once, you might forget the 
;.;T'. and be caught as King John and his hired soldiers 

'Would you believe it, Mrs Howel, but old Jarvis 
was saying last night, he's sure he knows where the 
treasure chests of King John are hidden ; it's right in a 
quicksand he says, the same those young men were 
caught in, you remember? Well, he feels sure if we 
could by any means get down in that far enough, we'd 
find the chests and the skeletons of the soldiers lying 
on top. I told him there'd be no skeletons after all this 
time, but he shook his head and told me " the young 
ones don't know better than their elders if they think 
they do."' 

Old Jarvis was an aged pensioner of Waterloo, who 
used to tell dreadful tales of that fight, one thing was 
that in the height of the battle he was standing in his 
square, being in the infantry, behind the first line which 
was kneeling, and human blood flowed over his ankles, 
and when he sank down near the ending, wounded, his 
one sensation was that its warm and shiny moisture 
was enveloping him. It was worse than the faint smell 
of it, mixed as it was with the suffocating stench of the 
oowder. He considered himself an authority on any 



and every .ubject where the word. ' soldier ' and ' «rm, ' 
were concerned, and hew., fully convinced he could 
find .he trea.u« of King John if only hi. 'fee, would 
let him. He had been wounded in his feet, wa« 
very .mall and very .pare, but for all hi. eighty odd 
year, kept his faculties, except at time, he .«med 
mchned to exaggerate the horrors of the wars through 
which he had passed, although the one fact of the blood 
having flowed over his ankles he had maintained ever 
since he had returned to his native place. 

•Ah!' said Grandma. 'I can't forget that terrible 
time when those six or seven young men were found, 
.landing not far from each other, caught in that quick- 
sand and held until the advancing tide had drowned 
them, and after it receded and people went to look for 

S' . u'' '"^' "^^ '='■''» =""«'"« '0 their 
clothe, and hair, within a few feet of each other, a. 

no doubt each had gone to the other, and 

been himself held there, especially a. all their watche. 

had .topped within .everal seconds of each other. 

Really. I always pass a dreadful day. when you young 

folks are disporting yourselves "down the Marsh " 

But you know Grandma, those particular wnds 

where the young men were caught. a« in an opposite 

direction to the ones we go to. Ours are by the estuary 

of the Ouse. theirs out more in the Wash ; no one 

ever was known to get entangled in ours,' 

'Besides,' Mid Bessie, 'Mrs Linwood told us if we 

IZ/!! '^^^'"^" "' ''" '" *^' '"°™°«' 'he tide 
would be receding, and wouldn't return till .bout the 
same time at night.' 


ENA ' 

So they coaxed »nd toothed the old lady'i fetrs, and 
she promited not to worry, especially as Mr and Mrs 
Watson were to be there. 

The two girls went out and sat under the orchard 
trees, to chat whilst the Grandma took her ' forty winka ' 
as the called her after dinner nap. 

' Ena,' said Bessie, after sitting for a while in thought- 
ful silence, ' I wonder what makes Mrs Howel so very 
nervous about our going to the sands ? ' 

'I'li tell you what I think it is. You know most 
of her people were connected with the shipping in 
Granston. Grandfather was Captain of the 'Ena' 
for many years, and owner as well. It was his father's 
ship in fact. Great-grandfather had it built, and named 
It after his Scotch wife. He met her on one of those 
little islands north of Scotland, when his ship was 
wrecked there, as he was going north on a whaling 
expedition. I have heard them say he was a little 
man, with very dark hair and eyes. (I know great- 
grandmother was what they call a splendid woman, 
she was very broad and tall and straight, as I remember 
her. When she was young her hair was a light 
auburn, her skin very white and clear. Grandma says 
and her eyes were so darkly blue, they appeared to be 
black at first sight. She used to sit in Grandma's 
house in Granston, or rather it was her house, in a 
high-backed easy chair, always with some knitting in 
her hand. The only thing that failed her, was her 
eyesight, and when she dropped a stitch Grandma had 
to come and take it up for her. Such fine knitting it 

always was too. 

Or if she forgot the count in any 


fancy knitted lace, it had to be counted for her. She 
alwayt loolced so nice. too. She wa* very fond of 
what she called ' Quaker colours,' you know soft browns 
and greys, and stone colour. Her gowns were all 
made after the pattern they had been made for at least 
forty years, with large "leg-o'-mutton " sleeves, and a 
plain white muslin, or, for great occasions, a real lace 
"kerchief" crossed over her breast, a cap with a (luted 
lace frill round her bonny face, had a high crown at 
the back, always of white, and Ued under her chin with 
pale purple or lavender or white " love ribbon." That 
thin silk ribbon you can see through.' 

Ena paused, as if lost in the picture of the past she 
had called up. when Bessie said. 'How tedious it must 
have been for her to sit all day long, and not go 

' Oh ! she didn't sit all day long ; I must tell you they 
kept very regular hours. They took breakfast at seven 
every morning. Then Great-grandma. Grandfather 
and Grandmother all went for a walk if the weather 
was fine about ten o'clock. They had dinner at twelve, 
and Great-grandma always took a long nap after it. 
About three they all went for another walk, and came 
home to tea at four. Then their relations and friends 
came in to see them. Grandfather and Grandma went 
out together or separately, as they wished, and often 
some friend or friends stayed and took supper with 
them at nine o'clock. Some times at this meal they 
had oysters, generally cold meat or fowl left from 
dinner, and home-brewed ale. You know how nice 
Grandma can brew it yet. In bed by ten. On Sundays 




^Sr 1653 Eosl Main Street 

S'.S RochMtsf. New York 14609 USA 

'■^^ (?'6) *e2 - 0300 - Phone 

^S (716) 2B8 - 5989 - Fax 



and prayer-meeting nights the/always went to Chapel, 
Great-grandma too, for she was a regular member of 
the Wesleyans for more than forty years. Her father 
had been a Minister of the old Scotch church, and 
there being no such church in Cranston, she had 
finally joined the Wesleyans, as being the strictest 
sect, and most like her own church. They were very 
strict in those days, and even regulated the colours the 
women of the congregation should wear. As it 
happened nothing could have suited Great-grandma 
better than those same " Quaker colours," for I've heard 
father say, she had such lovely colouring of her own. 
I am telling you this story rather " end first," as Grand- 
ma would say.' 
'Oh, never mind that,' returned Bessie, ' do go on.' 
'Grandma told me that after one of those severe 
storms they have in the Orkneys, Great-grandma was 
out on the beach watching a ship go to pieces. They 
could render no assistance, only several of the men, 
(Great-grandfather amongst them), were washed ashore 
lashed to some of the rigging. Great-grandma waded 
in as far as possible, she knew all the shore by heart, 
and dragged him out of reach of the waves. She 
unlashed him, picked him up, and earned him to the 
cottage where she lived with her brother, and where 
she helped him to eke out the living he made as 
school-master, by that same fine knitting I told you 
about. They both worked over him till he showed 
signs of life. When he was well, he wouldn't go south 
without her, so they were married, and he named his 

new ship after her. He always said she brought him 


good-luck, for he made lots of money after that, every 
voyage to the whale fisheries being successful. 
Grandma says most times when he returned there was 
another little Howel waiting for him to see it. Ihey 
had ten boys who grew up, ranging in height from 
Great-uncle Sam, who was five feet six. to Great-uncle 
Robert, who stood six feet six. They all followed the 
sea, two being lost when quite young, and the rest, 
with the exception of Grandfather, settled in different 
parts of the world; except that favourite nephew of 
h.s that used to be mate for him so long, and who 
sailed the Ena " after him. He wasn't so lucky as 
Grandfather though. I don't know if you know about 
h.m, I m only just coming to the part about the sands, 
and why Grandma has such a dread of them.' 
' Do go on,' urged Bessie, ' if you don't mind ? ' 
Its a very sad story. This nephew grew up with 
Grandfather and Grandma; they looked upon him as 
their own son, for his father was one of the brothers 
who were lost at sea. He was only a baby, when his 
mother married again, and they took him. 

'Well uncle James used to trade between Granston 
and Newcastle mostly, and he fell in love with a young 
lady there, the sister of a friend's wife. They were 
married, and he wrote to Grandna to say they were 
coming homeon the "Ena," as they were to live withher 
and Great-grandma, at least for a while. He wrote 
such a bright, merry letter. Grandma has it yet, in which 
he says his Lucy wouldn't leave all her kith and kin 
behind, she was bringing her favourite niece with 
her, a little girl four years old, just a year older than I 



was then. That was the very last we ever heard oi 
them or the ship for three years. 

'Then one day Grandma was crossing the West 
Granston ferry, and some seamen were talking about a 
ship lately found almost buried in the sands. She was 
being dug out, they said, and the skeletons of a woman 
and a little girl about four years of age found in 
the captain's cabin, together with their clothes, not one 
skeleton of a man was found. The sailors were of 
opinion they had all died at their posts, or been washed 

'Grandma gave a great cry, and then fainted, and 
had to be carried ashore. She never speaks of it, but 
she never really got over the shock, coming as it did, 
so soon after Grandfather's death.' 

' I don't wonder Mrs Howel dislikes anything to do 
with the sands; but I suppose the wreck occurred 
farther out to sea.' 

' No, only a few miles from the place wher<! »he young 
men were drowned, just outside the Estuary. Captain 
Howel must have been making for the river, only a few 
miles from home.' 

' Did they do anything with the skeletons ? ' inquired 
Bessie, with breathless interest. 

' Yes, Grandma and father had them brought home 
to the house where aunt Lucy should have come as a 
welcome bride, and they were buried together in St 
John's churchyard; there they erected over them a 
column of white marble snapped asunder, with a droop- 
ing lily carved near the foot. Lily was the name of 
her little niece.' 



I've seen it, it was one of the last monuments put 
there; soon afterwards the new cemetery was made 
outside the city.' 

'Yes; Great-grandma drooped after that, and soon 
passed away, for she was nearly a hundred years old. 
She thought so much of her " boy," as she called uncle 
James. She was knitting some specially handsome 
stockings for aunt Lucy, with pretty open-worked ankles 
for her to wear with sandals. They were put away 
with tbf; needles in, and I saw them in Grandma's 
" relic drawer " this morning ; the needles were rusted 
in the work.' 

The girls said little for a while, but sat thinking; 
then they bade each other an affectionate 'goodbye,' 
till the morning. 



Eight o'clock, and all ready for a start. They drove to 
the Linwood's first, and there stowed away five boys in 
the back of the waRonette with Hattie and Jessie, whilst 
Annie and Ena occupied the front seat. Mr and Mrs 
Watson were already there trying to persuade Mr and 
Mrs Linwood to join them, as they had procured a 
conveyance that would carry them and the youngest 
Linwood easily. So they soon passed the loaded 
wagonette and Joggy. Mattie went with Bessie Freeman 
and her sister. The donkey cart had started half an 
hour before with John and Sam and the hampers of 
good things, and they did not overtake it till they were 
nearly at the dykes. 

The landscape was flat and uninteresting enough, 
only broken by a few scattered trees, or a farm house 
standing near its rickyard. The road lay for several 
miles along the top of the old Roman Bank, which still 
forms one of the best among the almost perfect roads 
of Norfolk and Lincolnshire; being raised as it was 
some twenty feet above the low lying marshes, it must 
have been a great boon to the inhabitants in bs'gone 
ages, and before macadamized roads were known. 

The busy forms of the reapers here and there, 
the men cutting with scythes, the women coming 


behind and tying the sheaves, leaving them scatt' 
over the fields. Some women cutting with a .^„p 
hook, and leaving a higher 'stubble' than the men, 
children doing their part both in reaping and binding 
the sheaves, all working as if dear life depended upon 
the speed with which they cut, bound, and shocked the 
grain. As indeed it does, pretty much, for these people 
cut at so much per acre, consequently the winte.'s 
comfort depends on how much they get through with. 
It is really wonderful how they stand the heavy and 
continued work, from daylight which is very early at 
this time of the year, to darkness which comes quite 
late. Many of them do the ' shocking,' that is standing 
the sheaves two and two with their heads together and 
lower ends apart, in double lines of from eight to twelve, 
by moonlight; when the weary women and children 
have dragged themselves home to cook sapper. Happy 
the labourer's family who at these times possesses a 
litt'.e two-wheeled cart drawn by a donkey, stow they 
themselves away with much satisfaction, and most of the 
children will loll in all directions sound asleep before 
the sure-footed little donkey has taken many paces. 

Then those who reap the land, have the first right to 
the gleaning, and you will see them with the bunch they 
have gathered in one hand resting over the .«mall of the 
back as they go stooping along, picking, picking, patiently 
picking, ear by ear the scattered, and often scanty grain 
left for them. But a woman and her children will fill a 
sack with these closely tied ' handfuls ' as they call one 
of these bunches, and after a long day's work, the 
donkey carries its owner's and the sacks of their 




neighbours liome in triumnh, only leaving sufHciet : 
room to slow away the youngest of the children among 
or upon the sacks. Failing a donkey cart of their own, 
or the use of a neighbour's, they balance the heavy 
sacks upon their heads, and walk off as erect as a 

The men, at this time are carrying, stacking, and 
'thurkin' (thatching) the grain. For the best done 
work of the two latter the Agricultural Societies give 
quite substantial prizes. So that the labourers in these 
agricultural counties, if they are sober and industrious, 
are very well off. Then there are ' dowers ' left in trust 
by different benefactors, from the proceeds of which 
blankets, flannels, coals, or beef are distributed at 
Christmas. A doctor is paid from the Poor's rate for 
them, who is called in for every little ache, when better 
class people, who have to pay for their medical aid, 
would hesitate to incur the expense or would use some 
simple home tzmedy. Then in this parish a parcel of 
land has been set on one side, and some of the most 
deserving, sober and industrious are allowed to use a 
piece at a merely nominal rent. Sometimes this patch 
supplies them with sufficient grist to keep them in 
brown bread the year round. Or they will plant it with 
a root crop, selling the best, and feeding a cow or pig 
upon the rest. Then they are allowed to feed their 
cows upon the roadside, so long as they are watched by 
some one, and not allowed to destroy the 'quick' or 
thorn hedges which are used where ditches are not 
dug, and a boy often earns sixpence or nine-pence a 
day, according to the number of cows he is able to look 


after, but it is a lazy job, and many an orchard is 
robbed for want of something better to do. 

Again each parish, as a rule, is divided into districts, 
and is under the supervision of a lady, who sees that 
no sick are neglected, that the children go to Sunday 
school, and, as much as possible attend day school, 
although for the last the people have a small fee to pay! 

These workers were very merry, and exchanged 
laughing remarks with Mr Linwood and Miss Watson 
as they passed. The smaller children and babies were 
kicking round, or sleeping in the shade of the sheaves 
of corn. Here and there a man with a demi-john 
turned upside down at his mouth, taking a good ' swig • 
of beer or cold tea as the case might be. Then with a 
large onion laid on top of a piece of fat bacon, the 
whole wedged between his thumb and a huge 'hunk' of 
bread, he would proceed to regale himself. After this 
'slight refection,' he would tighten the strap round his 
waist, and go to work again, like a very Goliath of the 


Is I 



Arrived at the sands, they unharnessed their different 
steeds, tethered them out to feed, and taking their lunch 
baskets over the dyke, deposited them in its shade. 
Then off came their shoes and stockings and they 
started to follow the tide out. 

They went fully two miles, scampering inall directions, 
jumping the small 'cricks,' splashing each other with, 
the salt water, shouting and laughing till their throats 
were tired, and thej could laugh no more. Then they 
turned back, gathering their aprons full of samphire as 
they went, till they reached their starting point, where 
the elders were still seated talking and smoking, with 
the exception of Mr Watson, who, sober man of business 
that he was in town, seemed the wildest and gayest 
child amongst them. 

' Back again ! why it's one o'clock, and we've not 
unpacked the baskets yet ! ' 

Out came the great black kettle, the youngsters 
scampered off to where a boat had been repaired above 
the tide line, and picked up some chips, and soon the 
fire blazed merrily. Wliile the table, or rather table- 
cloth was being spread with all the good things they had 
brought with them, the kettle boiled. Mrs Linwood tied 
up some tea in a piece of muslin, put it in the kettle and 
allowed it to ' draw ' six minutes. 


They were all quiet e.iough for the next ten minutes, 
too hungry to tallc. There's nothing like the salt 
marshes to give people an appetite. 

After lunch the men went off to see the Coast guards, 
whose cottages stood near, with the weelc's washing 
flapping and cracking in the fresh breeze. Tlie two 
women settled themselves for a cosy gossip, and the 
children picked up seaweeds and shells, chased crabs 
into their hiding places, dug others out, built sand 
castles and forts, and destroyed them, or paddled in 'he 
pools of water lying warm in the sunshine. Pleasant 
occupation for all, they could exercise their different 
propensities for fun or mischief without so mucii as a 
'Don't Johnny!' or a 'Come now, Jessie! what will 
Mamma say 7 ' 

The elder girls strolled off to a place they knew of, 
where an old boat lay on ifs side. They could hang 
a dust rug in front, and it would make a very »ood 
dressing-room. They dawdled and chatted away an 
hour or more, then getting into their bathing-suits, 
they spent two delightful hours wading and paddling 
about in the warm waters of one of the larger ' cricks,' 
or sloughs with which the sands are intersected. The 
water feeling, as they said, 'like a warm soft cloak 
wrapping round them,' as they allowed themselves to 
sink into it. 

They dressed leisurely, wringing out each others 
long wet tresses, which were left hanging down their 
backs. As they neared the camping-ground, a scream, 
or rather a succession of screams intermingling j made 
them run to the spot whence they came. Mrs Lin- 




wood and Mrs Watson arrived liirectly afterwards out 
of breath and terrified. 

In the middle of the widest creek were Hattie and 
Jessie and the two smallest Linwoods, kicking and 
splashing and clutching each other, and screaming in 
chorus. They had evidently been bathing too, whilst 
the ladies were talking, but had done so in their 
clothes, and were now almost taken ofT their feet by 
the water, hence the uproar. 

Two of the elder boys in tights, who had been 
bathing to themselves some distance off, now dashed 
in, and each taking two of the dripping frightened 
little ones, handed them i p the bank without a word, 
and darted off again to thiir own sport. 

What to do with them ? was the next question, till 
some one said they saw lots of children outside the 
Coast guards' houses. So they were marched off there 
to see if any dry clothes could be borrowed. But the 
clothes went by contraries as the girls said, the smallest 
coast children being boys, and the bigger ones girls ; 
so after much rubbing down and lots of crying, the 
Linwood boys appeared in petticoats and dresses, 
looking very much ashamed of themselves, while Hattie 
made a pretty sailor lad in a suit of blue serge, and 
Jessie was gotten up in baby clothes very much too 
small for her. 

When they appeared in camp accompanied by the 
owners of the clothes and their mothers, they were 
received with rounds of applause, clapping of hands, 
and the wildest of capers on the part of the elder boys, 
and with screams of laughter from the girls. 


Mr. LInwood Invited them all to tea. and the wives of 
the Coast guards were only too glad to vary the 

:rrr::r"^"^°^ ''--"'' •^'^-'•'-H 

Mr LInwood and Mr Watson appeared soon after, 
ooking damp and rosy from their swim. I, occurred 
to them to look over the dyke, in the direction of the 
Guards cottages to see how they took their deserted 
homes. ri,ey had evidently come out from tlfole 
lonely abodes, and were discussing the situation, whilst 
one of them swept the horizon with his 'glass- but 
without effect. * ' ""' 

rhilH-T °" ^"^'^'^ '''■'" ''" ^'"■' «™« from a 
ch.Id,sh vo,ce. as a small head and shoulders appeared 
above the dyke ; and they were not long i„ obeying he 


It was a merry meal they all took together- then 
putting the tired little ones on the floor of 'he 
wagonette so they might rest their heads on the 
cush.ons of the seats and sleep if ,hey wished ; he 
b-ggerones stowed themselves away where ever they 
could find room and the homeward march comme ed 
a seven o clock , after a day that Ena and some of the 
others marked as a red letter day. to look back upon in 
the future with pleasure. 

tollrj*' "u """'' °' •■"" "'^ "'8ht. 'home and 
to bed. be,ng the order of the evening, and the dear 
Grandma breathed a sigh of relief as she tucked them 

hatT^'n'""'' "' "'''''• ^^'"^ « 'hankful hearT 
that they had all returned safely. 





The time was slipping away all too quirkly in pleasant 
intercourse, days in long walks, and evenings in music, 
only ten remained. Ena's heart sank as she thought 
of the coming trial, but she had no idea of giving up 
the struggle, or of complaining. She would say to 
herself, ' Only three or four years, it will soon pass, 
and I shall be eighteen and ready for College, then I 
shall soon forget all this.' 

'A letter for you, Miss Ena,' said Betsy. 'I have 
one too,' observed Mrs Hetherington, ' about you.' 

Ena loooked up quickly, she wondered if Mr Kobin 
had written about what she was supposed to have 
said of his wife. 

'It's from cousin Joe and his sister Nancy,' con- 
tinued Mrs Hetherington, 'he wants John and you and 
the girls to make up a party of ten or twelve, and meet 
them on Thursday— this is Monday— at Granston 
Station ready for the nine o'clock train to Hunstanton. 
You are to take a hamper and be prepared for a day 
on the sands and water there. They are going with 
a large party from Thorpe, some Londoners amongst 
them Joe says, so you must put on " your best bibs 
and tuckers." 

' Bibs and tuckers indeed ! ' laughed Annie, ' as if 


we were babies. But won't it be fun ! They will be 
all quite grown up, like Joe and Nancy, Isn't Joe an 
elephant of a man, and such a tease I ' 

' You haven't opened your letter yet, Ena,' observed 
her mother. 

'It's from Miss Hatford, I think,' returned Ena 
examining the envelope, apparently unwilling to open 

' Well, read it, and you will be sure.' 

She opened it, glanced at the signature, and then at 
the brief contents, and handed it to her mother. 

' Dear me ! visiting a college friend in Yarmouth, 
and is coming on here to-morrow; she might have 
asked if it was convenient.' 

I suppose Miss Hatford took your invitation to 
mean any time during the long vacation. Mamma.' 

' It seems like it,' returned her mother shortly. 

As the Grandma entered then, looking fresh from her 
'forty winks,' the letter was passed to her. She 
seemed greatly pleased Miss Hatford was coming, and 
took no notice of the curt and somewhat 'conde- 
scending ' note. She wanted to know what kind of a 
woman shp was ; her granddaughter had said so little 
of her, it had disturbed the good, observant old lady. 

Ena began to wonder how Miss Hatford would 
deport herself. 

' She is coming to-morrow by the ten minutes past 
four train ; some one must meet her. Shall you go, 
Esther ? ' 

' Oh I dear no. Mother, I wouldn't put myself out so 
much for Ena's governess, it would be too much of an 

y • 




attention, all in the afternoon's heat and dust too. 
It was all very well to do it for Ena.' 

Ena kissed her, she never remembered hearing her 
mother make so much of her before. 

'I can Ro, Mamma, and I daresay Annie would go 
with me, we shouldn't mind the dust and heat a bit, 
should we ? 

So it was arranged that the two girls were to meet 
Miss Hatford in Granston. 

They were both standing on the platform next day 
when the train came in. Miss Hatford alighted, shook 
hands with Ena, was introduced to Annie, and then 
looking round the dejected, almost deserted station, 
enquired how they were to get to Skifton. 

' We came to drive you out. Miss Hatford.' said Ena 
leading the way to the wagonette. 

'Well, that's good of you now, to hire this nice little 
carriage on purpose for me, but,' with a toss of her head, 
which set the flowers and feathers of her truly wonderful 
hat quivering, ' I suppose you expect me to pay half 
though.' She was away from Mrs Kobin now, and 
could wear what she liked, and her likings usually took to 
a brilliant hue, without regard tosuitability or contrast. 

Annie looked vexed, and said, 'Oh ! no. Miss Hatford, 
this belongs to Ena's Mamma, she uses it for driving all 
the time.' 

Mtss Hatford eyed the neat turn-out with a business- 
like air. The carriage had been built by a clergman, 
who had lived beyond his means, and Mr Hetherington 
had bought it for his wife, when the clergyman's things 
were sold. 



She remarked to herself, ' I'll keep a civil tongue in 
my head, I expect Ena does belong to the better sort 
after all.' She elected to sit in the comfortably cushioned 
seats at the back, so the two girls took the front seat to 
drive. She spread her bright sunshade, stretched out 
her feet, and thought to herself, if only 'someone ' she 
knew of was sitting (' setten' she said) there in front of 
her, she would be content to jog along in this way for 

When they arrived home, Grandma met the visitor in 
the hall in her neat afternoon dress of black silk, and 
her white widow's cap with its long wide strings 
hanging untied on either side, which showed to perfec- 
tion her bright complexion and her still auburn hair, 
amongst which the threads of white were scarcely 
perceptible. She took Miss Hatford to her room 
herself, where she admired everything which was 
contrary to the old lady's code of good breeding, and 
wound up by saying, ' I don't wonder Ena treated us 
all as if we wasn't good enough for her. 

'I shall be very sorry if Ena has not behaved herself 
well ! ' returned Grandma interrogatively. 

'Oh! she behaved well enough, but Mrs Kobin 
thought she gave herself airs, that's all ; and so did the 
servants.' Then she told about the invitations to the 
Parsonage kitchen refused by Ena, Mrs Kobin's ' spite- 
fulness ' because she thought Ena had talked about her, 
and many things which enlightened Mrs Howfel as to 
the difficulties which had beset the child. 

Next morning she beckoned Ena to her room, and 
there she opened her heart to dear Grandma telling her 



of her reason for bearing the blame of Mrs Carson's ill 
judged words. 

She was proud of Ena's fortitude, and the quiet 
patience with which she had borne all her tials, for she 
well understood the agony it had been to her grand- 
daughter's sensitive disposition. She determined the 
child should not return unless better arrangements 
could be made for the future. 

Miss Hatford had already informed her that she was 
going to leave school and marry the coachman at 

Mrs Howel wrote to Mr Kobin and made arrange- 
ments through him for Ena to take music lessons every 
Saturday from the Organist of Caversham Church ; also 
that upon the completion of the school house, she 
should have a room to herself, and that hcside the 
school, choir practice, her own practice of music, and 
her lessons out of school, no house-work, and certainly on 
cleaning of the school-room and lighting of fires there, 
should again be required of her as a part of her duties. 

' It seems to me, our young lady and her friends are 
carrying things with a high hand,' sneered Mrs Kobin, 
afte. eading one of these letters. 

' I don't see we can do any better, you know most 

people who apprentice their daughters to a school, can't 

afford to pay for them away from home ; and there's no one 

here who can take Ena's place. You know she works 

well in the school, and last examination her department 

was considerably above the average in successful passes. 

Besides, when you feel unequal to the church music, she 

is able to take it l. a moment's notice.' 

I il 


' Yes, that's the great thing ; I should never have put 
up with her airs and graces only for that. O ! I suppose 
we shall have to keep her here. I only hope Hatford's 
successor may be better able to manage her, and keep 
her in her right place.' 




Miss Hatford stayed a week, which she seemed to 
enjoy very much. She went to the Hunstanton picnic, 
and was greatly taken with the mighiy stature and 
general worldly prosperity of ' cousin Joe,' who might 
easily have supplanted the coachman, had he been so 
minded. She told Mrs Howel, it would be many a long 
day before she got another holiday she expected, after 
she was married to the coachman ; but she was tired of 
school, and meant to get out of it. She cheerfully 
promised to meet Ena in 'Town,' and take her down to 
Reading with her. 

Ena had a gathering of her old friends the night 
before she left home. They were very merry and 
stayed up late for them. 

'I'm afraid,' remarked Mrs Hetherington, 'you won't 
be up by four o'clock in the morning, ready to drive to 
Granston ! ' 

'Get up at four o'clock in the morning,' laughed 
young Dr Flint, who had joined the youngsters early, on 
pretence of coming for Mattie, "Why I'll engage to 
drive you there in three-quarters of an hour, if you'll 
trust to me, Ena.' 

So after many good-bye kisses, and good wishes, 

they all trooped off together. 

Ena slept till five, when Betsy wakened her, helped 


her to dress, and gave her a good breakfast. Then she 
went and said 'good-bye' to them all in bed; and, as 
Alf was waiting, gave Betsy a good hug and kiss, 
jumped into liis light gig, and was soon bowling away at 
a brisk rate through the bright, cool morning air. Alf 
set her down at the ration, saw that her luggage was 
properly labelled and in the van, got her ticket, put her 
in a carriage, then with a wave of his hand and a 
flourish of his whip, whisked out of the station yard. 
Ena could not prevent a few tears falling as she 
watched him leave, but it was only about three months 
to Christmas, she told herself. ' Cheer up, it will never 
do to cry.' But there she sat, a dispirited little heap in 
her corner, till the many and increasing streets below 
showed her she was nearing Shoreditch. 

Miss Hatford met her, and they drove together to 
Waterloo Station, and thence to Reading, where they 
were met by the coachman. He and Miss Hatford 
discussed their future prospects, with much zest 
during the drive, oblivious of all else. 

They went right to the new school house, which 
had been finished, cleaned, and the heavy furniture, 
carpets and blankets, put in as part of the house. 
All comforts, house linen, nic-r.acs and so on had to 
be supplied by those who would occupy it. 

They had both brought good hampers of groceries 
and provisions, and Miss Hatford asked Ena to go 
to the village shop and get some bread, in a very 
different manner to what she had done at first. After 
their tea, they went to work putting things in place, 
and arranging for Sunday. 



■ 1. 


Then they both went to see Mr Kobin. Mrs Kobin 
was not well, and sent Ena a list of chants and tunes 
to be played for the Sunday services. This she under- 
took somewhat nervously, as she had no opportunity 
of going through them with the choir, who were liable 
to break down ignominiously, and if the harmonium 
stopped too, there would be dead silence. When they 
did this, the only thing to do with them was to begin 
over again, and it was just as likely as not they would 
fail again in the same place. 

Miss Hatford went, as usual, to spend her evening 
in the parsonage kitchen, and to hear and tell all the 
gossip. She was very full of her visit to Ena's people, 
which was all duly repeated to Mrs Kobin by the head 
housemaid, when she waited upon her mistress. 

Things went on in the same strain till Christmas, 
when Miss Hatford was married, and removed to 
a neighbouring parish, where she lived for many years, 
a thrifty and industrious wife and mother. 

Mrs Kobin had been ordered south by the doctors 

for the winter. Ena had to take the church music 

entirely; and, assisted by the Curate in charge, the 

choir was much improved. This prevented her from 

going home during the Christmas vacation, which was 

a sore disappointment all round, especially to the 

Grandma, whose usually sturdy health seemed to be 

giving way. She took Ena's piano, packed it with 

a number of books and pretty things she set store 

by, and sent it to her grand-child as a Christmas 

present ; over it Ena spent the, to her, long lonely days 

of th holiday, which was only two weeks. The 


monitreu stayed with her, for company ; and then the 
new school-mistress arrived. I can best describe her 
by Ena's letter to her Grandma. 

'Miss Sonning has arrived, she is so tall, and fair, 
and slim j she looks as if one of our Norfolk winds 
would blow her off her feet and away. I don't think 
she is very strong, but she is so gentle and kind. I am 
afraid she will find the school hard to manage. She 
holds a much lower certificate than Miss Hatford did, 
and was never apprenticed as a pupil teacher, but used 
the little money her father left her to put herself to 
a training college (Bishop Stortford) where she hr d to 
remain three years, and now only holds a Third Class. 
"The mathematics troubled me so much," she said, in 
her sweet way, but she holds a Government prize for 
Drawing, and writes beautifully. She has brought 
lots of water-colour drawings and sketches, and with 
that precious piano, and all those books and pretty 
things you sent, dear Grandma, our little parlour is 
a "refuge for the weary" (Miss Sonning said that). 
She does not play, but she says it does her good to 
listen to me. I think she had to work very hard at 
college to get through. Her father was a curate; 
when he died she had no one left, and it was his wish 
that she should put herself to College and gain a 
Certificate, with the few pounds they had been able to 
save out of his small stipend. She was so afraid she 
might fail again, for all her money was gone in the 
three years training, she is almost ill with anxiety. 
She says we will study together, I must teach her 

music, and she will teach me French and Drawing too 




, I; 

if you like, betide our uiual lesaoni, I feel at if I had 
luddenly found a dear big titter, and the layi, I thall 
be her dear little sitter. Dearest Grandma ! how happy 
we thall be together ! ' 

Grandma laid down the letter, and wiped her 
tpr^tacles, a feeling of utter thaniifulness filling her 
kind old heart. She knew it would not be long before 
Ena would have to take the ttand she had proposed for 
hertelf long ago, of protectress to the little sisters ; for, 
although Sam had kept to school, and was a steady, 
good boy, John wat growing more and more unruly 
and aelfish ; and as hit mother alwayt took his part, 
thingt began to look serious at home. The dear old 
lady felt that a year or two was the most she could 
hope for, and was laying by as much at she could, in 
order to help Ena out with the rest when her time 
should come. 

Her husband in making his will, had only left the 
money his wife had brought him, to their daughter, the 
greater part of it was willed to his nephew, who we 
know was lost in a storm upon the Goodwin Sands ; 
but his wife had the interest of the whole during her 
life-time. Therefore the greater part of the fortune 
would return to the Howel family after the Grandma's 



Mrs Robin's health had necessitated her residence in 
tiie south of Europe, so her husband made a flying 
visit, rented the parsonage, furnished as it was, to 
a very devout lady of wealth and position ; who. by her 
hard worit in the London slums, and her rigorous dis- 
regard of herself, had broken down her heahh. She 
brought her servants and her carriage and horses, 
crowding the somewhat limited accommodation of the 
parsonage and its offices to its fullest extent, and 
making an unusual stir and bustle in the quiet, rural 

She had a serious question upon her mind and in her 
heart, and she thought in this quiet retreat to solve 
it dispassionately. Middle aged, alone and wealthy; 
the question was this : ' Should she throw her fortune 
into a sisterhood, joining it herself; or, should she 
continue as she had done, trying to accomplish all the 
good in her power single-handed ? ' 

In the quiet and rest of Grassmore, she felt she 
would be able to decide. 

The first Sunday she went to the little church, she 
could hardly take her eyes jff Miss Sonning. What 
was there in her that took her memory back irresistibly 
to her own days of childhood ? After all they did not 



I I 


fe«l M jir away, and yet the had to acknowledge to 
middle-age, and a Mmewhat tallow and premature one. 
She made up her mind to call upon the School-mUtress 
after hour* to-morrow, and find out if she could. 

Accordingly as Miss Sonning, Ena, and the Konitress 
■at in their snug little parlour at lessons, a loud knock 
at the door an 'ced a visitor, and the Monitress 
ushei-ed in 'The new lady from the Parsonage.' 

Ena gathered up her books and papers, motioning to 
the girl to do the same, and they retired to the dining- 

The Monitress now Hved with them ; she was the 
daughter of a farm labourer, but unusually bright and 
clever, with an ambition and a corresponding incustry 
that seemed to grasp and hold any information that 
-ame in her way. Added to this she had a fine per- 
ception of right and wrong; and she possessed a 
soprano voice of uncommon purity and sweetness. 
Oral lessons to the little ones never failed to be 
interesting, for they were given with an earnestness 
and eloquence that impressed whoever heard them. 
She did what housework was required quietly and 
deftly, for her board, and the chance it gave her for 
study. In after years she was one of the brightest 
lights in the Training College to which she went by 
virtue of her scholarship, and where she remained as 
teacher of some of the higher branches to the students 
for many years. 

When at last Miss Sonning joined them, htr eyes 
were bright and wet with happy tears. After tea, 
the two friends took a long walk, whilst the Monitress 



WMhed .nd pu. aw.y the ,« thing., .wept up the 
hearth, and .at down to fairly devour every wottj of 
her leaMn. in readines. for next day. 

The 'new lady f«,m the Parwnage ' h«i introduced 
her« f a. Mi.. Steven.. Mi.. Sonning only bowld 

iTdv ta , ' J!?' '■°'' •"'• ^"^ '■"»«"">««'» how that 
waited for her to .peak. 

'The .ight of you in church ye.terday. brought back 
to me wme old memorie. of my childhood, which I 
am afraid I allowed to run away with me. I came 
to^ay to have a talk with you. and «t my mind at 
re.t. My deare.t friend, and almoat .i.ter (I had no 
brother, nor .ister, of my own), who .hared my Icon, 
my walks, my play ,nd everything wa. so much like 
you. only her hair was dark, while yours i. auburn ' 

Mis. Sonning's eyes went up to the portrait of such 
a woman on the wall, and Miss Steven, followed 
the movement. She sprang up and stood long before it 
tracng out each familiar feature. Then, when she 
had composed her.elf. .he returned to Mis, Sonning's 
side, and taking her hand, said softly. 'What is your 
name, my dear ? ' 
' Etheldreda,' was the response. 
Miss Stevens drew her down and kissed her. 'That 
^my name, she gave it to you for the love of me.- 
Whydid she n.ver write, I wonder? Do you know 
anythmg of your mother ? ' 

' I only know my mother was governess in a family 
when she was married to my father ; and that she died 
when I was three years ^old. Any reference to her 


seemed to give my father so much pain, they had been 
so devoted to each other, that I seldom mentioned her. 
I know she and her baby boy were buried together. 
Then my father's sudden death, (her voice brolte) by 
a railway accident when I was eighteen, prevented him 
telling me more, as he might have done, when he 
considered me old enough. It was his great wish that 
I should enter a Training College, and become a 
National Schoolmistress, as I would have to earn my 
living, rather than go into a family as a private 
Governess, he said I should have more independence. 
He was preparing me for the coming Christmas entrance 

' Was your father a schoolmaster? ' 
' No ! he was the curate of a small, outlying parish, 
near Bishop Stortford, and we had saved just money 
enough to put me to College for three years. He 
thought I could have passed the necessary examina- 
tions in two, but I was so broken down with grief the 
first year, I Uid little good.' 

During their walk Miss Sonning imparted to Ena all 
Miss Stevens had told herrof her mother, dwelling 
lovingly on every detail. 


i M 

I .•■^ 



'I WAS an only child cf about twelve years of age 
living wuh my parents upon a lonely piece of property 
of wh,ch they had taken a long lease, on the coast of 
Devonshire. Soon after we moved down, a retired 
Naval officer took the only other place that was not a 
fisherman s hut. and came there also to reside, with 
a small grand-daughter of ten. I was so delighted 
when I saw her in the garden as we passed. I wanted 
my father to go in at once to see them; but I had to 
control my impatience for a few days untH they were 
settled. Then, as Mother was an invalid, and could 
only go out in her bath-chair, father and Tstarted ou- 
to call. 

'Your mother was out. tying up some flowers when 
we amved. and after the two gentlemen had intro- 
duced themselves, she was called in. I ran to meet 
her and kissed her before I could hear her name or 
she mme, and we went out into the garden with our 
arms entwined about each other's waists. I void her 
my name was Etheldreda. and she told me hers was, after the Princess, by her grandfather's wish, 
as the Princess Louise was the Queen's baby then 

IMy father persuaded your great-grand father to allow or Loo, as we all called her, to share my 




lessons, and from that time we were inseparable. I 
had a good, conscientious governess, and after lessons 
we all three wandered far and wide among the rocks 
and on the sands of the shore, and walked for miles on 

the downs above. .,,... 

' My life had blossomed out into true childish happi- 
ness, and so I think had hers. I found my music 
lessons a delight, she her drawing and sketching; 
which I see you also delight in. and ^^e glanced round. 
Then, looking at the open piano, she asked doubtfully, 
if I was musical. I told her of course, that it was 
your piano, and that I had little aptitude for it. She 
seemed pleased that I was like my mother, even in 

* ^We went on in this way, seeing few people beside the 
fisher-folk, till I was eighteen and Louise sixteen ; when 
Mamma became so much worried, she was ordered to 
Naples. We shut up the house and took our old 
servants with us. Papa tried hard to persuade Captain 
Britton to allow Louise to go with us ; but for once ho 
was obstinate, and we had to leave her behind. Fo 
the first time in six years we were parted, and as it 
proved, never to meet again in this world. 

'We corresponded regularly for a year, then, after 
terrible agonies, which drove even Louise from my mmd 
for a time, my mother died. The blow was felt very 
severely by my father and me ; we wrote to no one but 
travelled slowly and sadly home. Stopping here and 
there in an aimless way, always intending to go right 
on. but we lingered out some six weeks. 

• When we arrived at our now desolate house. I started 


out at once to see my friend ; but, what was my dismay 
to find the cottage closed and empty. I went down to 
the hut of an old fisherman who used to do odd jobs for 
Captain Britton, who told me the old gentleman had 
died rather suddenly, and been buried a month ago, 
that was two weeks after we had left Naples, you see, so 
if your mother wrote we never got the letter. He said 
' Missie ' had gone somewhere to be a governess, but 
the vicar would tell me all about it. I went to him, 
intending to follow up my friend and bring her to live 
with us, as my father wished. I wrote to the address 
he gave me, wrote again and again, till another month 
had passed; then father and I determined to go in 
search of her. 

'When we arrived at the place, on the outskirts of 
London, we were shown into a drawing room, bright 
and gaudy, looking as though it was only intended for 
a show room. We were kept waiting a long time, then 
a lady in keeping with the room entered, and finding 
we had only come to enquire about her governess, 
treated us with great disdain. She said, insolently, as 
she leaned back in an easy chair, " I'm not my gover- 
ness' keeper, you know." When we pressed her, she 
said she believed the young person in question had 
married some tutor and gone away, she didn't know 
where, and she was sure she didn't care. But she 
wouldn't be bothered again about her ! So we had to 

' We searched the church records to find what her new 
name might be, we advertised, and did everything we 
could think of, but never found any trace of her ; when 


' n 

I saw your face in church, I felt as if my old friend was 
present once more. 

' Then she told me of her own lonely life, and wanted 
me to go and live with her, but I couldn't give up my 
independence, you know, Ena. Now I uuderstand why 
it was my father was so anxious I should train for a 
school-mistress, instead of going as a private gover- 

A silence of sympathy fell between the two for a 
while ; then they began examining the state of the corn- 
fields, and speculating as to when the harvest would be 
ripe, for upon that depended the commencement and 
duration of their summer vacation. 

' Did you notice, Ena, how ill Katie Craven looked 
when she asked to go home this morning ; and one of 
the boys vomited before he could get to the door ? ' 

' Yes, it put me in mind of that time in Skifton when 
ague and fever were so bad, several children would go 
out in the same way every day ; and it continued so for 
all one very damp and foggy winter we had.' 

' Well, 1 hope we shall have no epidemic here, for, 
let alone the suffering of the children, I am afraid in 
the coming examination, we should fall far below the 
usual average.' 

' Oh ! I think not,' said a cheery voice from the road- 
side, and Mr Winton, the curate in charge, who had 
heard the last few words of the conversation, got down 
'rom a stile where he had been sitting, and came 
towards them. 

They all walked back together to the school-house, 

discussing day and Sunday school, choir and harvest 



prospects, with a vim and pleasure the topics them- 
selves could hardly have warranted. 

'Are you very tired, Mr Winton ? ' said Ena at last, 
' I never knew you to walk so slowly.' 

The quick flush which rose so easily to Miss 
Sonning's face, and showed in a fluctuating manner 
through her pure white skin, now flew over face and 
neck as her eyes met those of Mr Winton. 

He laughingly declared that the evening was too fine 
to spend indoors, where he had no company but books, 
and that he was making the most of the weather and 

They became silent for a while after this, till Ena 
again spoke of the illness of the children in the morn- 
ing. They were near the school now, and Mr Winton 
took the names of the two, promising to go to-morrow, 
if nothing prevented, and see how they were. He 
was inclined, however, to think it only a bilious attack. 

So they parted at the gate, and Ena, who had gone on 
before, did not see how the hands of the two lingered 
together as they said ' Good-night.' 





Next morning several more children sho^red the 
same symtoms and had to go home. In less than two 
weeks the school was almost empty. The parish doctor 
came in with Mr Winton, and told Miss Sonning it was 
an epidemic of scarlet fever, but of a very light form. 
There was no danger at present, except any of them 
took cold, when a relapse would, in all probability, 
prove fatal. He said the school must be closed, and the 
teachers, if they had not already had it, should go away 
after taking due precautions not to carry it with them. 

Mr Winton urged Miss Sonning to go, but she said, 
'No, she would remain and help to look after the 
children.' As all persuasion was in vain, Ena, who 
had had it in early childhood, resolved to stay with her. 

It now wanted but four weeks to the harvest, and 
almost every cottage had one or more children, some- 
times a whole household, down with the fever. 

Miss Sonning and Ena made jellies and nourishments 
and carried them to the sick. In this they were more 
than seconded by Miss Stevens, whose experience was 
as much greater than theirs, as her means were. 

But they all worked heartily, sitting up at night when 
required, relieving a tired and worn-out mother, either 
by doing her work while she watched, or watching while 
she took some sorely needed rest. 

'Little Johnny Patson be dreadful bad, Teacher,' 


said one of the elder girls, to Ena. 'lie jumped out his 
bed, an' went to making dirt pies, an' now the doctor do 
say, he be goin" to die ; an' Johnnie wants you.' 

Ena took up a small jelly, such as she had fed 
Johnny with when his fever was at its height, and 
-tarted out at once for the cottage. 

They had paid no attention to Johnny for several 
days, as he had been pronounced out of danger. Now 
Ena found him looking ghastly and swollen, but he 
knew her as she entered, and smiled up at her. He 
took some of the jelly eagerly, but it passed right 
through him at once with a gurgle. His mother was 
standing by with her apron to her eyes, and a baby in 
her arms. 

'How did it happen, Mrs Patson?' enquired Ena 
^sadly. 'You see. Miss, Johnny be'd all the time out- 
doors, no use tryin' to keep en in, an' you knows how 
well 'ee be'ed ? ' Ena assented. 

'Well Kiss, I'd be cookin' some supper fer 'ees 
fayther. ee didn't 'ave a decent bite o' nothin' sence the 
children took ill; an' would ee believe it, when ee 
comes in, our Johnny be in he's arms. Us put en in 
bed, an' ee drunk some tea, an' did eat ees supper 
dupper-like, but afore momin' ee be'ed all swelled up 
h!.e you see 'en now. an' I be feared 'ee'll die.' 

Ena stayed and watched with the parents till all was 
over. It was twelve o'clock when she reached the school- 
house. She went noiselessly into Miss Sonning's room 
to see if she was asleep, and found her with brilliant 
eyes and flushed cheeks, complaining of thirst and sore 



kr li 

Ena made a fire and got her some tea, which she drank 
eagerly. She sat with her till morning ; and, as by that 
time Miss Sonning was becoming delirious, she sent the 
monitress for her grandmother, who was always willing 
to do anything for them, in return for the assistance given 
her bright grand-daughter. They watched for the 
doctor as he passed on his morning rounds ; he had to 
drive in from Reading, or Ena would have sent for him 
in the night ; and there was no doctor nearer. It had 
not occurred to her tired brain to send word to Miss 
Stevens, who would instantly have dispatched her 

As neither had been to early service that morning 
Mr Winton, fearful of what might ue, came over to the 
school-house directly after to enquire for them. He 
came up while Ena was talking to the doctor, and said, 
' Come, Ena child, we shall have you on our hands yet, 
you look like a little ghost' 

The kind words and tone were too m h for the over- 
wrought girl, she broke down and sobt ,d convulsively. 
As the doctor went upstairs he led her into the house. 
When he came down, she dried her eyes and asked him 
what he thought of Miss Sonning 7 

'The worst case yet ! ' he said seriously ; but as his 
observant eye noted the sudden palor of Mr Winton's 
face, he added, ' but lots of staying power, we shall pull 
through alright.' Then looking kindly at Ena he said 
'What have you been doing to yourself? You must 
keep up.' He examined her tongue and her pulse. 
'There's no fever here ; quite the contrary, very low.' 
The monitress looked in to say ' Granny has come ! ' 


The doctor turned to herand asked, * What has Miss Ena 
been doing 7 ' 

' Please Sir 1 she sat up with little Johnny Pataon last 
night till he died ; and then with Miss Sonnlng. making 
tea for her, and tending her till now.' 

'Quick, Winton ! some wine,' said the doctor as Ena 
reeled over, fainting. 'She has worked bravely, poor 
child, and is exhausted. I shall order her to bed, and 
leave Miss Sonning in charge of Granny Prine.' 

When Ena came round, he told her to take a good 
breakfast, and go to bed; 'and stay there." he added as 
he went out, 'till I come in the morning.' She was 
too weak to do anything else. 

Mr Winton went to Miss Stevens, and she and her 
maid, were soon established at the school-house. 

Ena was kept in bed for a week, and then allowed to 
- it up late and go to bed again early, for another week; 
after that bh; was as well as ever. 

But the fever kept steadily increasing on poor Miss 
Sonning, and only the greatest of care, and best of 
nursing, under Goi', pulled her through. 

When, after five weeks she was allowed to sit up for 
a while, the mere shadow of her former self, it was very 
evident she would be unable to take charge of the school 
when it re-opened in about three weeks. So a substitute 
was engaged, and as soon as it was sa.d to move her. 
Miss Stevens took her first to the Parsonage, and then' 
to a quiet seaside village. Here, Mr Winton was a 
frequent visitor, and Miss Stevens found her triumph of 
short duration, for these two determined to cast in their 
lot together. 



y H 


Wk iiiust now glance back at Grandma Howel, and the 
rest of the family at home. 

Sam had gone into a lawyer's office in Cranston, he 
could stand the petty tyrannies of his elder brother no 
longer. Even the usually cheerful Grandma wrote 
somewhat despondently to Ena, whom they had not 
seen for over a year. 

The home friends all resented the inopportune fever, 
which had deprived them of her for the few weeks in 
the summer they had counted upon. 'Even Harry,' 
wrote Annie, ' forgot half his nonsense, because you 
were away. He has gained his degree, and been 
ordained a Deacon. It seemed so queer to have him 
standing in the Reading Desk, saying prayers ; but I 
thought he looked lovely in his surplice, and he read 
delightfully. It is the first harvest holiday he has been 
at home since he went to St Augustine's, and he was 
sure we should all spend it together.' 

So Harry had not forgotten her, she felt strangely 
happy over the thought. 

On Monday school began again, and the temporary 

mistress was to arrive to-night. Ena wondered what 

she would be like, she felt sure she couldn't love her as 

she did Miss Sonning, but comforted herself with the 

thought that it was only for three months. 

A cab drove up to the gate, and Ena went out to 


meet Mi.. W.tkin.. She w.. weary and di.plrited 
looking, of medium height, with a drab kind of com- 
plexion and hair and eye. to match. She had not been 
a .ucccful teacher, and had changed from «hool to 
.chool without finding the satisfaction .he wa, looking 
'or. As Ena led her into the house where tea awaited 
her, she complained of the cost of the caL, feeling sure 
he driver had cheated her. of the length of the 
journey, the dust and heat, the dullness of the countnr 
and lastly of the churchyard, or burial ground, which 
lay. with Its graves and head-stones between the school 
and church. Ena soon found that was her way for 
nothing seemed to please her. and the poor giri felt 
rather down-hearted. 

' I hope your tea is to your liking ? ' she ventured to 
ask as a third cup was being poured out. 

'It might be a Uttle hotter, and I think it would be less 

l"kely to give me indigestion if it hadn't stood so long " 

After that the meal proceeded in silence, except for 

a few uncompliraentery remarks upon different subjects 

by Miss Watkins. 

Ena felt it quite a relief when it was time to go over 
to the church for choir practice. 
_ 'Has Miss Watkins arrived?' asked Mr Winton 
and what do you think of her?' he added somewhat 
quizzically as he watched her face. 

Ena told him; he laughed and said. 'Well, you 
know we can't expect another Miss Sonning. We 
must do the best we can.' 

' ^^"^^^^ ">"^'- But it is the church music I feel 
troubled about. I am su^e Grandma is both ill and 




worried, I mustn't dlMppoint her at Christmat ; Miaa 
Watkint can't play, and it Menii wrong to spoil the 
Christmas services.' 

' Never mind, Ena, I'il get someone to talce it for two 
or three weelcs then if I can. Suppose no one is 
willing, they must do without music' 

She felt relieved by his decided manner, and wrote 
a cheerful letter home upon her return to the house. 

Things went on in dull routine, with very little 
interest shown on the part of the temporary mistress 
either for school or anything else. 

Ena looked forward with a sick-at-heart longing for 
the Christmas vacation; she thought Miss Sonning 
would be back after that, &nd said so one day to 
Mr Winton, who coloured slightly and said he thought 
not. In answer to her look of surprise he continued, 
* But we must make the best of things, Ena.' 

' But Miss Sonning says in her letter, she is so well, 
and feels stronger than ever.' 

' I know ; but she is to stay with. Miss Stevens till 

Christmas of course duly arrived, and Ena was met 
this time by Miss Sonning ; who told her of the engage- 
ment between Mr Winton and herself, as they rattled 
across London. Of the marriage which was to take 
place at Easter, when Mr Kobin would be back at 
Grassmore, and that Mr Winton would take up new 
duties in London, in the same Parish in which Miss 
Stevens was living. 

' Ena, you must come up for the wedding and be my 

dear little bridesmaid,' she said as she kissed Ena 


'Goodbye.' She was to .pend it lei.t • d.y with Mil. upon her return and ihe loolied forwird to 
tbit with great pleiiure. 

Sam met her at Graniton Station, ind told her i. 
.he glinced round for Joggy. that Mamma had .old 
him and the wagonette, and that John had had the 
money for .omething. «, .he would have to go home 
wuh the carrier, unle.. Alf Flint wai .till in town. 
Alf h.m«f juat then turned into the .tation yard, and 
«.d Matue had told him Ena was coming to^ay Td 
to look out for her. So .he wa. .oon r'tt^^^^J 
home with him. " ' 

Sam told her he would be home in the evening, and 
after depoi.Ung her luggage in the carrier', cart 
.tarted for his usual Saturday', walk home 

Ena plied Alf with question., but he only laughed 
and ,hook his head, telling her she looked so drea^ 
fully grown up.' he didn't know what to say to her 

Grandma was on the look out for her. and caught 
her in her arms as she leaped down from Alfs gig 

Why my dear child, how you have grown! You 
look more hke nineteen than fifteen. How we have 
wanted you! See how the girls have grown, and 
heres Mami .a wuh one of her nervous headaches'- 

Hethenngton lay upon the sofa, looking worn and ill 

Ena turned from one to the other, she could hardly 

beheve th.s was her own dear ruddy Grandma 

Even the younger girls, though much grown, hardly 

looked hke their generally well-dressed selves 

Presently there came a^rattle an d bang at the fron 


door, a reeling step, and John burst into the room. 
His hat on the back of his head, and he was singing 
a song he ought to have been ashamed of. 

' Hello ! Ena ! ' he hiccoughed, ' Got home again, ey 1 
Well, you'd better make the most of it while it lasts. 
I mean to have a short life and a merry one. Here 
Mother, jump up, and let's have tea. Strong ! mind. 
I've got an engagement at eight, at eight.' 

A downy moustache was appearing on his upper lip, 
and he had grown into a fine-looking young man, since 
Ena had been from home. 

' Old lady there,' he continued indicating his Grandma, 
' got the best of me, and shipped that piano off to you. 
It was on my premises, I tell you,' he was getting 
quarrelsome, ' and she had no business to do it ; she 
never pays me any rent, and has the two best 
rooms in the house, she has. She has ! ' he asserted 
again, as if trying to get some one to contradict him. 

' We'll talk about that another time, John. You know 
Ena is but just in from Reading.' 

'Yes, there it is again,' he went on in a maudlin 

fashion, 'just what Bob Smith says, I've got such a lot 

of hangers on. I can't have a good time myself, till 

I've kicked 'em all out; kicked 'em all out! That's 

what Bob Smith says. I ain't going in to tea ; give us 

a glass o' beer here. Mother. You're the only decent 

one among 'em ; you always did like a fellow to have 

a good time. All the rest are dead against me, Bob 

Smith says so, and he ought to know.' Then he 

subsided into a drunken sleep on the sofa, from which 

his mother had just risen. 



chilli ''«", 1"'"'y enough in to tea, no pleasant 
chatter and laughing, like the last time Er. ..n^e 
.r'^^" «he noticed a mark on Hattie's rheek. as 
though she had been struck by a heavy hand 

cufr TT '" ''f°'' ''" ^"' °^='"' ""** '^^y ''" ''•-'^ 
quietly for fear of waking John. 

The Grandma got quite cheerful, when they were 
all seated m her cosy room, and talked and laughed 
as Sam told Ena afterwards, he never expected to see 
ner do again. 

Betsy gave a sorry account of 'Master John's' 
goings on. especially for the last six months. How 
he twitted Grandma for not paying rent for rooms in 
his house, stayed out late and seldom came home sober 
and seemed specially set against Hattie. If she was 
not quick enough in obeying his orders he would strike 
her, and call her a puling white-faced thing His 
mother seemed entirely in his hands, and would allow 
no one to interfere with him. 

Hattie was now twelve and tall for her age She 
had been regularly to school, as had Jessie, who was 
nearly seven, but so small she looked younger 

Grandma turned once to Ena suddenly, as they sat 
repairing, and making clothes, and said, 'I'm very 
anxious about the girls' education. I've saved forty 
pounds to help out with, that your mother does not 
know of, or she would want it for John. I shall give 
ten pounds of it in your charge when you return, in 
case anything happens to me.' 

Ena looked up at her in alarm ; but she only smiled, 
and «ud she felt alright ^at present. 'I have b«n 





•i '\ 


< I 


thinking perhaps Hattie might go baclc with you, and 
prepare for her examination next Christmas; she 
could share your room, and as you board yourself, 
you know the cost would not be greatly increased. 

Ena wrote immediately to Mr Winton, asking if he 
thought there would be any objection to this arrange- 
ment. He answered by return post, saying he did not 
see there could be. And Grandma seemed greatly 


They got everything ready for Hattie without telling 
her a word about it, and great was her joy when the 
time came, for she was glad to escape from John, of 
whom she was dreadfully afraid. 

'Grandma,' said Ena, a day or two before her return 
to Grassmore, ' why don't you go to Granston and live 
in peace, in your own house again ; you can do no 
good with John, and he is always saying something 
about your paying no rent ? ' 

' My dear, that has already been sold, or your mother 
would have lost this place. What John has done with 
all the money he has had in the last six months I 
don't know. I am afraid he gambles.' 

Ena was silent, she saw things were even worse than 
she had expected. Her home friends found her very 
dull, but they could all see she was unhappy and knew 
the cause only too well. 

It was a very sorrowful goodbye she bade her 
Grandma, when she left home, this time with Hattie 
in charge. She spent her day in London with Miss 
Sonning, and she and Miss Stevens were greatly 

pleased with Hattie. 


Once again she returned to Grassmore. but she had 
an added mterest in having Hattie wi h her m'ss 
Watkins also liked the quiet child • =,nH u 

^r. did a„ the. could U het st t J ^^ ^ 

Ena took no more music lessons, she was afraid of 
«^e expense, ut she kept up her practice, and augh. 
Hatne as well, who was very quick and clever w!th 
It, and gave little trouble. 

Now Miss Watkins was permanently engaged as 

.n'S %?thf ""^' "''• ^"'' -•""- "ere: 
M T.; "^^ "^"^ °" "" "ear Easter when 

Mr and Mrs Kobin returned. The latter was^'rfeeS 

garments, always gave one the idea that she 
ad dropped them to the floor when und .ss^ an, 
they had remamed in a heap till required again. Ena 
had St.! to assist with the choir, and play the 
harmonium, as Mrs Kobin was far from strong ' 
Then came the question of expense ; could she afford 

muft "Mis': S? '°"""'^' '-'''''"' ' ^'- ^^" °^ 

as he r H TT ""■"'^ '° ''"•• "°' '° «^' a dress 
she had already provided one each for her and 


Hattie; they only needed fitting, so they must come 
up directly school closed on Thursday afternoon ; and 
as Mr Winton was coming then, he would bring them. 

The wedding took place quietly on Easter Monday 
morning, with only the two girls as bridesmaids, a- 
coUege friend of Mr Winton, and Miss Stevens who 
gave away the bride. 

When they returned from church, with the officiating 
clergyman, to luncheon; a young man came eagerly 
forward, holding out both hands to Ena. She looked 
up quickly and recognised Harry Linwood in clerical 
dress. It was the first time they had met for nearly 
four years, and the change in both was very apparent. 

' We are old friends,' explained Harry, who was a 
Deacon in the Parish. Such a quiet earnestness was 
in the young man's manner, Ena felt shy with him, hut 
very happy in his evit^ent pleasure at meeting her 


Luncheon over, Mr and Mrs Winton departed for 
Calais, en route for the South of Europe, Egypt, and 
the Holy Land. They were to make a three months' 
tour, before settling down to their life's work together. 

The two girls spent the week with Miss Stevens, 
who took them to St Paul's, Westminster Abbey, the 
British Museum, where the ancient remains and relics 
from Egypt engrossed Ena's attention ; the Tower, and 
Kensington. It was a revelation to these two country 


Harry, who was a special favourite of Miss Stevens , 
was in to afternoon tea every day, and then they all 
went to service together. Ena felt strengthened to 


meet the trials that foreboded, little thinking how great 
they were to be. 

Miss Stevens proposed that Hattie should stay with 
her for a while ; poor child, she looked very drooping 
and complained of being tired all the time. 

So Ena returned alone to Grassmorc, determined to 
work harder than ever. 


;i i 


Now that Mr and Mrs Kobin were again settled at 
home, Miss Stevens proposed to them to give a regular 
village tete, such as she had intended giving, but for 
the unfortunate epidemic of Scarlet Fever. Two other 
parishes wi^'ied to join with them, and it promised to 
be of more than ordinary interest. 

The use of a fifty-acre meadow, situated about equi- 
distant from the three places, was procured from a 
farmer, in which stood some great spreading walnut 
trees. Under these, tables of boards set up on trestles, 
were placed, and covered with calico which would 
afterwards serve to be made up into garments for the 
parish bag. 

Arches of evergreens were constructed over the 
gates, and made bright with flying bunting. 

A prettily shaped fir-tree standing alone, was 
decorated with bright ribbons and small flags, and 
hung with every imaginable cheap toy and picture. 

A platform was raised, and a brass band from 
Reading was to occupy it. 

A Maypole was erected, although it was the middle 
of June, with a large green ham (i.e. salted but not 
smoked), tied to the top ; which the one who succeeded 
in reaching and untying was to have for his pains. 


Anyone can imagine the anxiety with which all 
concerned opened their eyes upon this momentous 
morning, and rejoiced at the brightly shining sun, and 
cloudless sky. 

The children were conveyed to the scene of festivities 
in farm wagons; not only the children, but the old 
people, and mothers with babies and todlers, too young 
for Sunday-school. Such a happy procession! Flying 
the flags made by the Sunday-school teachers, and 
singing their school songs lustily. 

The three bands of people and children were to meet 
at one spot, a short distance from the field, whence 
they marched two and two, girls first, boys after, and 
each school headed by its own banner, beside the small 
motto and other flags carried by the children. The 
teachers walked by the side, to keep them in line. 
The elder sisters, mothers, and sturdier of the 
parishioners kept beside the marching lines of children, 
whilst the rear was brought up by the aged and decrepit, 
some of whom had not met for many years, although 
but a few miles of country had lain between them. 

Under the triumphal arches, to the head of the long 
tables went the leaders, here they parted, one line filing 
down each side, and standing in their places. The 
men and boys uncovered, and led by one of the clergy, 
they sung grace. Then, when all were seated on the 
rough board seats, the teachers brought large wash- 
baskets full of bread and butter, and bread and jam 
first, followed by cans and jugs of sweet tea and coffee, 
for which each child came provided with a mug or tot. 
All these were followed by an unlimited supply of 



I !1 

'plum-cake,' then more tea and coffee to repletion. 
When no one could eat any more, they all rose, stood 
over the benches, and again sung grace ; but this time 
with effort, and much out of tune. They were allowed 
to scamper wherever they chose, several of the teachers 
going with them to start games, and see that no one 
played too roughly. 

Some of them cleared oS the tables, and prepared 
fresh tea and coffee for the elders, whose repast 
was the same as the children's with the addition of 
some very substantial beef sandwiches. They needed 
no plates, but each, as the children had done, brought 
their own tot or cup. They ate as heartily as the 
younger ones, and many a woman put away in a clean 
pocket-handkerchief, a beef sandwich and a large piece 
of cake for her good man's supper. 

All this time the band played lively airs and marches, 
and everyone was in the best of spirits. 

Now came another exciting part of the entertainment. 
Two tables at a great distance from each other were 
set up. One had hats, caps, pieces of cotton for shirts, 
ties, stockings, pocket knives and marbles. 

The other had pieces of print and lindsay for dresses, 
calico and flannel, aprons made and unmade, pocket 
handkerchiefs, ribbons, stockings, hats for girls, beside 
needles, cotton, thimbles and other things. 

For these things the girls ran races ; and the boys 

not only ran races, but went in sacks, on three legs, 

all fours, and as wheelbarrows ; some carried a small 

boy on their backs, and there was great measuring and 

' weighting ' of the little fellows to get one as light as 


possible, and yet oig enough to 'hold on.' The 
youngsters were eager to be taken, for those who 
came in on the winners got a prize too. '.hey 
had first, second and third prize each time, and 
no one was allowed to run a second tim;, riU all 
who wished to compete had had an opportunity of 
doing so. 

After all the prizes had been distributed from the 
Ubles, a bag was brought out containing tickets 
enough for everyone to draw, and the fun was great 
when big John Higgins drew a doll, and little Polly 
Prine a jack-knife; she carried it along in a very 
gingerly manner to Granny Prine, and seemed relieved 
that it had not cut her on the way. One old man got 
a tin rattle, but old Mrs Jenkins drew the grand prize, a 
whole pound of tea ; she had never had so much at 
once since she went to house-keeping some fifty years 

Now came the climbing for the ham, many tried but 
all failed, until a quiet little fellow, who had lately lost 
his parents, and came to live with his grandmother, 
went up. He clung to the pole with legs and arms 
when he reached the top, and succeeded in untying the 
knot with his teeth, when down came the ham with a 
thud ; and the poor old dame was afraid to look, she 
thought it was her boy. But he slid quickly down after 
it, picked it up, and with difficulty carried it to her, 
amidst the shouts of the onlookers. Poor old woman, 
she shed tears of joy for his safety, and the plenty the 
big ham would bring them. 
The teachers and visitors now footed " Sir Roger de 




Coverly' on the grass, then the renw'.ning provisions 
were distributed and after singing ' God save the Queen,' 
they went home in the order they had come, giving 
many and hearty cheers for their entertainment, not 
forgetting Miss Stevens. 



July; and soon the long holidays. Ena wrote her 
grandma a very loving and cheerful letter, and the old 
lady smiled over her glasses as she read it, and wished 
the time had already arrived. 

Hattie still remained with Miss Stevens, who wrote 
very despondently about her. She said the child 
suffered no pain, but grew weaker and weaker as the 
months went by in spite of every care, and all the 
nourishment which could be given her. Ena was to 
take her home at the vacation. 

One morning the old postman handed Ena a letter 
deeply edged in black. Glancing quickly at it she saw 
it was in her mother's handwriting. She was afraid to 
open it ; could it be her brother John ? It contained 
only a few words. ' Your grandma died suddenly this 
morning. Come at once.' 

There was no telegraph then nearer than Granston, 
and it took two days for a letter to reach Grassmore 
from Shifton. 

Mr Kobin came into school after early service, and 
Ena handed him the letter without a word, unable to 
trust herself to speak. 

He sent one of the elder girls to tell his coachman to 
get the horse in, and bring it to the school as quickly as 


I a 

! 1! 

■ 111 

hfe I 

'I i 


pouible ; told Ena to get tosether what she needed ; 
looked up a BraJshaw and found if they could make the 
train at Reading, she would be able to reach home that 
night. He also gave a telegram to the coachman to 
send on to Miss Stevens, asking her to take Hattie to 
Shoreditch to meet her sister. 

In ten minutes she was on the road, too stunned to 
cry, or even to think. When she saw Hattie's gentle 
face and languid form at Shoreditch she shed her first 
tears, for she could see only too plainly, that it would 
not be long before another of them must go. She laid 
the child down on a seat in the railway carriage among 
some cushions and rugs Miss Stevens had brought, and 
they started on their sad journey home. 

As she glanced at Hattie lying asleep, with the dark 
rings under her eyes, and her poor thin face, she knew 
it could be but a matter of a few months for her at most 
and then she would be with dear Grandma. She fell to 
thinking of Jessie, and wondering how she had fared. 

It was a sad home-coming. She soon found that 
things had gone from bad to worse. John had been 
drinking more, and staying out later than ever. Then 
he took to hunting wild fowl in the Marshes with Bob 
Smith ; till, one day, either from drunken stupidity or 
sheer accident, he shot Bob in the arm. He was a bad 
subject to begin with for anything of the kind, and then 
the time it took to get to Wisbech to Dr Mason, whose 
bone-setting renown had spread far and wide, and few 
people were satisfied with anyone else, if there was any 
possibility of obtaining the services of Dr Mason. Any- 
way the arm had to be amputated. 


Smith threatened Mrs Hetherington to prosecute 
John for attempted murder, unless one thousand pounds 
were paid him down as hush money. 

We have seen before what a horror these people had 
of a court of law; they had never been inside one. 
Then the picture the man drew of John hanging, if 
Smith should yet die of his wound; anyway of his 
being transported to penal servitude for life, filled them 
with dread. 

Mrs Hetherington tried to sell the estate, but being 
entailed, that was out of the question. Then she begged 
her mother, on her knees to sell out from 'The Funds' 
one thousand pounds of hers. It was the amount 
which was to come to her at her mother's death, she 
knew by her father's will. 

Mrs Howel assured her daughter she had no control 
of it in her lifetime. Then they had recourse to their 
lawyer, who told them the man would undoubtedly 
recover damages, or in default imprison John ; but as to 
hanging ! that was out of the question, as Smith him- 
self had spoken of it as an accident in the first 

Mrs Howel, whose health had been failing for some 
time, took a cold from which slight Erysipelas in the 
head resulted. She had thought little of it, and 
refused to have a doctor called in ; she had only needed 
one twice in her lifetime, once when she was a child 
and had Scarlet Fever; and again when her daughter 
was born. 

The fear of what might happen to himself had sobered 
John, and the three sat late in Grandma's room, talking 


---^ /(i 


it all over, and resolving to take the lawyer's advice, 
and let a court of law decide the damages. 

She bade them an affectionate good-night, and when 
Mrs Hetherington returned a little later to be sure her 
mother needed nothing more for the night, she found 
the dear old lady going over Ena's letter again. She 
looked up over her spectacles in the way she had, and 
smiling said, 'Alright, my dear! alright,' and those 
were the last words she said, for in the morning they 
found her, with the same pleasant look upon her face, 
dead in her bed, and Ena's letter lying beside her. 

The doctor said the erysipelas of which she had 
thought so little had touched the brain, and caused 
her sudden death, which however had been instant 
and painless. 

Ena wrote Mr Kobin, that she was sorry not to be 
able to return at once, indeed not until after the 
Harvest Holidays, as her mother was in much trouble 
and her sister not expected to live. 

He wrote back very kindly, telling her how he had 

appreciated her quiet work, giving her the result of a 

very successfully passed examination, both for herself 

and her department. As haying time was on, and 

the school but thinly attended, they would try and do 

without her till after Harvest. The church music 

troubled them most as Mrs Kobin found the harmonium 

most fatiguing. He wound up by saying, ' I have 

found out the self-sacrifice you made for Mrs 

Carson's sake, and Mrs Kobin and I fully appreciate 

your self sacrifice, although we think it was a 

mistaken kindness.' 



It seemed Carson had been promoted to a better 
position, and before going his wife had made confession 
of the truth. 

Dear Grandma was buried beside her son-in-law, as 
she could not lie beside her husband, for the city 
burying-grounds had been closed. Seven weeks after 
Hattie was laid beside her. Poor Ena's heart was 
vei7 sore; her only relief lay in the constant action 
which was required of her. 









Events crowded upon Ena in quick succession, she 
had scarcely time to realise one before another was 

in its wake. 

Mrs Hetheringtonhad always trusted to some one 
else to act for her ; and now. husband and mother gone, 
she turned to Ena. 

The assizes were at hand, and they had to go to 
Norwich, for Smith would make no compromise, it 
• must be the cool thousand.' he said. * or jail for Master 
John.' What an ordeal it all was to them, only those 
who have been in a like plight can tell. 

The verdict was given; five hundred pounds and 
costs ; which amounted to two hundred and fifty more, 
or two years in Norwich Castle. 

'Don't you let mother pay it, John! It will ruin 
her I will get a school near you. and when you come 
out! you can make a fresh start abroad. Mamma will 
only have two hundred and fifty pounds left; for you 
know all the money that could be raised on the house 
and orchard, has already been obuined.' 

•MTsongo to jail! A convict! No!' burst out 

Mrs Hetherington in an hysterical passion. You have 

no feeling for any of us. Ena! You only want money 

for the schooling you are always makmgsuch a fuss 



about ; and I can't see that any good has come of it 
yet ; although it's cost enough, goodness knows ' ' 

Grandma paid for it,' said Ena sadly, 'and I hope 
you have not had to suffer.' 

'Suffering or not; that expense must be stopped, 
you will have to earn enough to keep yourself after 
this. I shall have nothing for myself. If I hadn't 
such a crew of you. I might marry again and live 

'I can manage to take Jessie back with me. Mamma. 
Sam IS keeping himself, and you will have only John ' 
Give me the two hundred and fifty pounds. Mother.' 
said he. and I'll make a fresh start in Australia.' 
He was getting over his fright, since he was not to 
go to jail. and Ena feared he would soon be back in his 
o d ways. The idea of his making a fresh start in one 
of the Colonies, had never occurred to her ; indeed she 
would not have dared to suggest it. if it had . 

Well, he went on, as no one spoke, 'what do you 
say, IS It a bargain ? 

' What does it cost for a ticket to go out there ? ' his 
mother asked hesitatingly. 

'A ticket!' he laughed hoarsely. 'I shall want two 
«f I go I was married to Nancy Hanks, just before 
Hattie died ; and I'll bet two to one. if I go. she goes 

.h'*?*wi!" ' t""^ '° '"" '~'''' ""^■^"'''^ "^'•""^'d from 
he White Hart!" Why, she's ever so much older 
than you! You hardened boy ! I've done with you. 
lake the two hundred pounds, and never let me see 
you or her any more. At least I'll give it to you when 






you are ready to sail,' she said, reconsidering it, and 
for once acting with discretion. 

They all now returned to Skifton, and Mrs Hethering- 
ton interviewed her daughter-in-law, declaring, ' She 
wasn't so bad after all t ' 

The day they left for Liverpool, she gave them the 
two hundred pounds, and Mrs John took possession of 
it and him, and managed both with great success. 
She bought land just outside Melbourne, with an 
hostelry attached, and got along very well. It is true 
her husband was more ornamental than useful, but 
she seemed to have industry and common sense enough 
for both ; and thouiih she adored him as much as his 
mother had done, her strength of will held him in check, 
and the lively interest he took in his growing family, 
made of him a better man than his friends had hoped 
to see him. 



It was now little more than a week before the 
Grassmore school re-opened, and Ena wanted sadly 
to spend a few days with Mrs Winton. who was 
expected home daily, as she passed through London. 

Shall I take Jessie with me, when I return on 
Saturday, Mamma ? ' 

'Now I told you, Ena, after the expense I have had 
with John, I can't spare you any more money. I have 
been considering for the last few days, an offer of 
marriage ; the man is not quite as well offas I could wish, 
but he thinks he could do well by the place, and make 
a good living for me. You know, Ena, I never have 
been very strong, and never quite recovered the shock of 
your poor father's death. Just think what a trial it was 
to a delicate woman like me, to have to bring you all up 

Ena thought of the good Grandma, and wondered 
what they would have done without her. 

' You can take Jessie, of course,' Mrs Hetherington 
continued, ' I shall be able to help you to buy her 
clothes, and send you a little money sometimes, I 
suppose. Then there's Sam can't get along alone yet, 
his pay is so small. You had better put Hattie's things 
together, they'll do for Jessie.' 

'Mamma!' said Ena timidly, 'do you know what 


U h 


became of the thirty pounds. Grandma had put away 
for Jessie and me 7 ' 

'What next I should like to know 1 am I to account 
to you for what my mother left me ? ' 

'Certainly not. Mamma; only Grandma told me she 
had laid it away for us. in case anything happened to 
her. before we could make our own way.' 

'Well. I found John ransacking her drawers, before 
poor mother was taken down to the best parlour, and I 
was only Just in time to get it first, even then he wanted 
some of it. He was a little down over the shooting and 
court aff-air, so he let me keep it ; but it nearly all went 
for the Norwich ex^nses, and the mourning. Now I 
have only the fifty pounds left of poor mother s money, 
and I must keep that for Mr Sharp. I must have 
something when I am married.' 

So her mother was going to marry that miserly old 
man. Ena was glad Jessie was to return with her. 
Mr Kobin's permission had already been asked. She 
thought she ought to warn her mother of the kind of 
man she was about to marry. . , .„ „ 

• Mamma, dear ! ' she ventured, hesitatingly. Do you 
think you will be happy with a man like that; I am 
afraid he won't be kind to you' 

' So I am to take advice from my own daughter as to 
^hom I am tto marry ! Perhaps you'll kindly say when 
I'm to marry, or ''crbid the banns, or something of the 
sort. Well, let me tell you we shall be mamed by 

'Tm saw it was all settled, so she asked when it was 
it was to be. - 

'At Michaelmas.' 

' I shall not be able to be here. Mamma, I'm sorry for 

Well, I'm not; as you seem to have so many 
opinions of your own, and I daresay Mr Sharpe will be 
as well pleased.' 

So Ena packed her things, and once more travelled 
Londonwards ; this time with Jessie in charge. 

Miss Stevens met the pale, worried looking girl at 
Shoreditch ; and taking her two hands in hers, bent 
over and kissed her so kindly, that the long pent up 
tears flowed freely, and the drive was accomplished in 
silence, for Miss Stevens knew the subsequent relief 
these tears would bring. 

Harry was standing on the pavement, awaiting their 
arrival. He handed them down, pressing Ena's hand 
in sympathy with all her troubles. 

' Ha ! Gypsy,' he said, as he playfully took Jessie 
down with a flourish, using the child's home nick-name, 
'you here. Puss! what do you think we can do with 

She rewarded him with a dark look, and Miss Stevens 
thought Ena had something of a task before her, as she 
looked at the child. 

They went in to luncheon j and then. Miss Stevens, 
seeing Ena's strength lay in action, she invited her to 
go on her parish rounds, and see some of her poor 
people, and invalids. 

One case, of a gentle and refined young seamstress, 
whose long hours of toil and small remuneration had at 
last broken down her health, took Ena's attention 


completely, and she begged to be left there, till MIm 
Stevens returned. 

* I wish I had my school and house now, and then I 
could have you down with me for two or three weeks, 
the country air is so refreshing.' young girl's eyes brightened at mention of the 
country, and her thoughts went back to her own early 

' I was the daughter of a country schoolmaster,' she 
said, 'father had a small school near Berkhampstead, 
where so much straw-plaiting is done, you know. We 
lived in a little thatched cottage near, as the school had 
no house attached., Mother trained up creepers all 
over the porch and up the thatch, father worked in the 
garden out of school hours, and we were very happy 

She paused as she thought of it all, and sighed. 
' But father held no certificate, he had not been teaching 
quite long enough to obtain one by length of service, as 
many did when it became compulsory, and he was 
unable to earn one by examination. He got so nervous, 
he said, he could remember nothing at all. The last 
time he tried, he fell in a fit on the i'oor of the room 
where the examination was held. He was brought 
home to us, paralysis followed, and after six months 
he died. 

' Mother and I did embroidery and plain sewing, or 
anything we could for a living. In a country village 
there is very little of that kind of thing to do. We 
could neither of us do the straw plaiting ; to be really 
expert at it one needs to begin in early childhood, as 


they all do down there. So, when we couldn't pay the 
rent any longer, we came to London. We had been 
told that needlework was very plentiful here. We took 
this room and looked about for work, but we could 
only get shop work, and that is very poorly paid. Poor 
mother soon began to sicken, and was unable to go out 
at all. Not long after she had to give up sewing, she 
was too weak. 

"The only comfort I had was to go to church once 
on a Sunday, I could spare no more time, as I had to 
keep stitching, stitching, stitching, week day and 
Sunday, and almost night and day, or the rent could 
not be paid, and there was little over that to keep us 

'Mother got very ill, and wished to take Holy Com- 
munion before she died. I went for the clergyman of 
the church I had attended ; and when I think of the 
comfort he and his dear wife brought to my poor mother's 
last few weeks on earth, I feel too thankful for words ; 
for she lived two months with the kind help they gave, 
and I'm sure she would only have lasted a few days 

' She died two weeks ago, and they are going to send 
me for six weeks to the country, in charge of some 
poor children, out of a fund for that purpose ; and then 
I'm to have a situation in the children's refuge to teach 
and help to care for the little ones; and to have 
opportunities to improve myself; and,' she added after 
a pause, with tears in her earnest eyes, ' God helping 
me, I'll work with such a will, as to pay them back if 




And (he did, for we heard of her in after year* as 
Matron of that same Refuge HomCi doing such work 
for her fellows, as only a few tactful, earnest souls are 
enabled to do. 

Harry and Ena went long healthful walks together ; 
and Miss Stevens looked on at the evidently mutual 
regard of the two young people, with a sympathy only 
equalled by her goodness. 

' Ena, how old are you 7 ' she asked one day, after 
one of these walks, as they sat at afternoon tea. 

* I shall be seventeen next Christmas, if I live.' 

' I should have taken you to be nineteen or twenty, 
you are so tall and serious looking-' 

' When do you domplete your Ordination ? ' she 
enquired turning to Harry. 

* In nine months.' 
'And then?' 

* I'm not sure, but something was said ot my going 
to Zanzibar for two years.' 

'You'll be through college by that time, Ena, and 
have the school and house, you count upon so much.' 

Ena smiled sadly, 'I shall have to do with a 
Provisional Certificate, and go Assistant Mistress instead, 
for I have Jessie to provide for now, and no Grandma 
to help us.' Her voice trembled but she forced herself 
to continue, ' You see Mamma is going to marry again 
at Michaelmas, and I should not like Jessie to go 

She did not add that her mother's husband elect had 
said 'he would not have them there ; they were old 
enough to work for themselves, and would have to do 


so, one way or another. ' You're a likely gal yourself,' 
he had said to Ena, 'and might git married, and take 
the little 'un with yer.' She flushed with annoyance 
as she thought of it. Such a man in her father's 
place ! For a will of the lale Mr Hetherington's had 
been found since her Grandma's death, in which he left 
everything to his wife. It was this will no doubt, of 
which he tried so hard to speak to the Grandma, as 
he lay dying. 

Ena's heart stirred strangely, and the colour mantled 
her pale face, as she looked up and met the loving, 
earnest gaze of the young man. Neither had noticed 
the departure of Miss Stevens, till now. Harry came 
swiftly to her side, and taking her hands in his, tried 
to make her look up at him. 

'Ena, darling r he said breathlessly, 'Could you 
ever care for me 7 Could you learn to love me 7 ' 

She glanced shyly up. 

' Tell me, darling ! Tell me I ' he urged. 

' I think,' she said hesitatingly, * I must always have 
loved you without knowing it. Oh Harry ! ' and her 
tears flowed fast, this crying so easily was a new thing 
to the brave girl, she did not know it was owing to me 
overstrain to which she had been subjected. 'Oh, 
Harry ! you are too good for me ; I shall never be able 
to help you as I ought to.' 

Half-an-hour after, the door opened, and three 
persons entered. Harry and Ena were standing on the 
hearth rug, his arm protectingly round her, her head 
resting on his broad chest. 

'My dear children!' broke from the three simul- 

m ■ 


uncouily, They had all expected it, and were delighted 
to lee they had not been mistaken. 

Mr and Mn WInton had returned, and were looking 
well after their journeyingt. The evening these five 
people spent together was one of unalloyed happiness, 
such as only the 'pure in heart' can know in this 
world. But physical pain entered even here, for once, 
as the evening wore on, they noticed a grey look upon 
the face of Miss Stevens, and heard her give a quick 
gasp. Poor thing, she knew for a certainty, what she 
had suspected for years; that the malady of her 
mother, internal cancer, had descended to her, and she 
only prayed that when she could hide it no longer, the 
end might be speedy, not for her own sake, but for 
those who loved her. She remembered the lingering 
agonies of her mother, and felt that her cross was 
heavy. But she sought for strength to bear it, and 
worked in the cause of humanity with an almost feverish 
avidity, greedy to do all good works while she yet had 



Ena now went back to Grassmore, with Jessie. On 
their arrival Mrs Kobin sent for Ena, ostensibly to 
talk about the church music, but in reality she 
was heart-hungry for a little sympathy and kindness 
in her sickness. She had done her best to estrange 
her husband, and felt she deserved but little attention 
from him. Indeed he thought she was better pleased 
when he stayed away. He was willing enough to 
show her every attention and kindness, but did not 
know how to set about it. 

Ena found her trying to read to herself, her eyesight 
was very bad, but the r ding of her maid irritated her 
beyond endurance. 

When they had arranged about the church music 
and the choir practices, which were to be resumed, 
Ena offered to read to her. 

' Will you ? ' she asked in a pleased tone, ' but I 
am afraid you are too tired after your journey.' She 
assured the poor invalid that the journey from London 
had been so short, it had not tired her at all. 

When Mr Kobin looked in an hour later, he found 
his wife calmly sleeping among her cushions, and Ena 
preparing to leave. They went out on tiptoe. Sleep 
was what the querulous invalid most needed, and 
found so difficult to obtain. 







After that Ena had to go daily, sometimes she read, 
at others told her of school or parochial incidents that 
might interest or amuse her. Strange to say the old 
lady took a great fancy to Jessie who was so sullen 
with most people, but became greatly attached to Mrs 
Kobin. Hie child would sit as she had done with her 
grandma, without saying a word for hours, but always 
ready to do any little thing she could. 

Ena was afraid her lessons were being too much 
neglected, so as Mrs Kobin became stronger, she 
taught her herself; and now Jessie spent each day 
with her, and the poor lady took an interest in life, 
she nor any one else would have believed possible a 
few months earlier. She grew less querulous and, 
consequently more cheerful, and Mr Kobin enjoyed 
more tranquillity than he had hoped for in his married 

But no assistance came from home, and Ena had to 
go to the village shop and beg the woman who kept it, 
to allow her account to run till after her examination, 
when she would pay it in full from her government 
money. Sometimes the poor girl was overwhelmed 
with fear lest she should not pass successfully, for 
then she would lose her grant, and it was all she had 
to depend upon. 

Now and again a letter came from home, but always 
full of complaints at the drudgery ; for Betsy had been 
discharged by the thrifty husband, who expected and 
insisted that his wife should do the work herself. 
Not only that, but help him to gather the fruit, 
and jog to market in a two wheeled cart, with 'Thomas 


Sharpe, Market Gardener,' painted in large white 
letters on the back to save taxation, as no tax was 
charged if a horse and cart was only used for getting 
a living, and the occupation plainly set forth upon the 
vehicle. There she had to stand at a stall, and help 
him to sell fruit and vegetables, eggs and chickens, 
fresh pork or whatever he had gotten together, by 
retail j some of the best customers being her old friends 
who came to pity and condole with her. Mrs Sharpe 
wrote once and said Jessie was to go home and help 
her ; but Ena felt it her duty not to deliver the child up 
to almost slavery and certain ignorance. Harry, whose 
advice she asked, knowing all the circumstances of the 
case, thought as she did; though in keeping Jessie 
herself, they would be unable to marry until Harry's 
term of missionary work expired, which might range 
from two to five years, according to the effect the 
climate had upon his health. There had been some 
idea of their going out together, but they felt, although 
they might expose themselves to dangers and priva- 
tions, they had no right to force them upon Jessie, who 
would have no choice in the matter, but must face the 
suffering all the same. 




Christmas came again, and Ena spent the two weeks 
with Miss Stevens, Jessie stayed with Mrs Kobin. 

Harry was to be ordained a priest, and go out early 
in the spring ; so that this would be the last time they 
would spend together, till after his return. Ena might 
perhaps join him there after the first year, if things 
turned out better than they at present expected, and 
if an opportunity of escort presented itself. 

In the meantime no mortals could have been happier 
than they. Every available moment they spent 
together, in the church for service or decoration, where 
Harry fetched evergreens and cut them up, while Ena 
wove yards upon yards of wreathing for the pillars. 
Every one respected their devoUon to each other, and 
their corner was left to them. If any unthinking person 
joined them. Miss Stevens was on the look-out, and 
found something to send them elsewhere for. 

These happy moments of truest sympathy, and 
closest intercourse, afforded them many nn hour of 
bright retrospection after the parting which followed. 
in the private triaU of the one, and the privations of 
the other. 
They went for long walks in the crisp frosty air, 


where Ena never knew, she only realised they were 
together, and that they would soon be far apart. To 
look into each other's eyes, to hear each other's voices, 
the magnetic thrill of their slightest contact, was 
happiness greater than many of shallower natures 
and smaller sympathies could comprehend. They said 
to each other their love, their happiness was too great, 
too idolatrous. But their dispositions, their tastes, 
their aims for this world, and their hopes for the 
next, were so in unison, no discordant note could mar 
their grand symphony. Added to this was their 
perfect faith in each other; and how could two young 
natures be more completely one than they ? 

But the time of parting came, and no stranger who 
looked into the sad quiet eyes of the two as their hands 
and lips met for perhaps the last time in life, would 
have guessed how many miles of space and years of 
time were to separate them. Ena sat at the door of the 
railway carriage, the clanging of bells, the hissing of 
steam, the shouting of excited voices, the hum of 
innumerable wheels, and the tread of many feet, all 
passed unheeded; they lived these few moments as 
entirely alone as if out of sight and sound of humanity. 
The question which quivered in each heart being 
'Shall^ we ever meet again?' 'Is this good-bye for 
ever ? ' They had still so much to say to each other, 
but no word came. Their eyes said 'Farewell,' their 
white lips were mute. 

It seemed to Ena that she only roused to a conscious- 
ness of her surroundings as she entered the Reading 
Station, and received an affectionate greeting from 

i I 


JeMie, who seemed to realise something of the sacrifice 
her sister was making for her salce, and although, with 
something of her mother's nature, she felt it should be 
so, was grateful for it. She knew it was only Elna's 
faithfulness to the trust imposed upon her by Grandma, 
which had kept her here, to look after her. 

Dear old Grandma ! Ena began to see and feel some 
of the trials which had beset her, and she wondered at 
her unvarying cheerfulness, and resolved to cultivate it 
in herself ; for she felt more and more a disposition to 
look on the dark side of things. She did not know that 
most of her depression was caused by over-anxiety, 
overwork, and lack of proper nourishment. The two 
girls seldom had Any fresh meat, and only eggs when 
they were at their cheapest. They lived principally 
upon bread and butter and tea. Ena was so afraid her 
small store of money would not hold out, and nearly a 
year yet before she could go assistant mistress. She 
was revol\ing the future in her own mind, and 
wondering what they would be able to do, as they 
slowly wended their way back to Grassmore in the 
carrier's cart. She was afraid of the expense of a cab. 
Six shillings was a great deal of money to her now ; 
and the carrier took them and their luggage for one 
shilling. The man put them down at the schoolhouse, 
carried in their valise, and wished them 'Good after- 
noon !' 

Miss Watkins had not yet arrived, so they made fires 

and warmed up the house, and then indulged in tea, 

with some rashers of bacon added, which they greatly 

enjoyed after their journey. 


wftZ*"'""* 7' '"'" '"' •^'''*^'""' -''« Miss 
Watkans amved m the evening. She told Ena. she 

JnH V r ''''°°'' ""'' '"'' "'^«^ '~<=hed its full 
Standard of attendance since the fever, would not be 
allowed a pup.l teacher in her fourth year: as the 

inthethr'%""^T'''="''""''''°"^°f''''= "Children! 
n the three Rs, as English rudimentary education in 
the National Schools is termed, but also by average 
d 1 r:i'°' "«"-"y theaverage had been great^ 
d numshed by the closing of the school, and the small 


Ena could be transferred to another school, or take 
one for herself. Miss Watkins continued. 'I don't^ee 

Ena said she was only too glad to be of use 
Oh yes! that's all very well.'said the more practical 
school-m.stress -but if you go on living the way you 
are now. you'll be like the old woman's cow that ieint 
to live without eating.' 
Ena laughed, but felt there was much truth in it 
Now. if you Stay here, ask for ten pounds a year for 
pUymg m church, it would buy meat for you, and two 
growmg girls have no business to be without it.' 


Ena found the question of going elsewhere was a 
serious one for her, as the average attendance did not 
allow of a pupil teacher in her year. 

h.'iss Watkins talked it over with her. She would be 
at the end of her fourth year in the spring, so they 
decided that, after her examination she should look for 
a school. 

She wrote to the old clergyman at home, and 
explained her position as nearly as she could ; asking 
him to speak for her should a suitable school present 
itself to his knowledge. She would not have gained 
her certificate, and was eligible only for an Endowed 
School ; these were fewer and more difficult to obtain 
than the National Schools. So things were left for the 

Miss Watkins was very kind at this time, she liked 
Jessie's quiet ways, but stood rather in awe of Ena. 

In the meantime came news of Harry's hurried 
departure, which saved them the misery of fresh good- 

Ena's time now being so fully occupied between the 
church music, school, her own studies, and the music 
lessons and practice of Jessie, she had little time for 
brooding. Then there was a fortnightly gleam of 
brightness, when a letter with a foreign post mark was 


handed to her by the old postman. Somehow she was 
generally near the school gate, and quite at hand to 
take it herself. The old man would shake his head 
knowingly and smile as he turned away. 

About this time she had a letter from the old 
clergyman at Skifton. telling her of a school in the 
parish of his son-in-law, about fifteen or twenty miles 
from Skifton, at Fenend, an outlying district as its name 
implied, in the 'fen country,' and where a small church 
had just been built. 

He wrote, ' My dear child, we feel, although you are 
so young, such a complete trust in your worthiness and 
truth, we do not hesitate to offer it to you. What we 
do hesitate about is the smallness of the salary, only 
twenty-five pounds a year ; it will hardly keep body and 
soul together, and there is neither school-house nor 
rooms, or school for the matter of that, as a movable 
partition is to be placed across the west end of the 
church, for school purposes, and removed for Sundays 
If you feel you can undertake this charge we shall be 
very glad; but, should anything better offer, by all 
means accept it in preference.' 

She showed this letter to Mr and Mrs Kobin, and 
told them she thought she ought to accept it So it 
was agreed that Ena should go to Fenend, and that 
Jessie should remain with Mrs Kobin for a while; that 
IS she would live at the school house, and spend part 
of each day with Mrs Kobin. 

Her examination had been successful, and she 
obtained her government money. She paid the bill 
at the village shop, bought what few actual necessaries 


they required, packed her precious pi»no, and was 
ready for a fresh sUrt. 

She wrote to her mother, saying she would be there 
for a few days to see her, and prepare for her new 
position. Accordingly she once more found herself 
at Granston Station, with Sam waiting on the platform 
to receive her. He had grown so much, and being 
such a dark lad, his moustache quite showed upon his 
lip. Altogether his appearance assured her of his 
steadiness. She knew he had very little to keep him, 
so she went to his lodging with him, looked through 
his clothes, and took a lot home with her to wash and 
mend. She had never thought but her mother would 
attend to all thatfor him. When Ena mentioned it to 
her, she had so much to do she said, ' she had no time ; 
since poor mother was gone, and Sam away, there 
was no one to do anything.' 

Sam and Ena started cheerfully out to walk to 
Skifton, it being Saturday, and after office hours ; when 
who should they run against but Alf and Mattie Flint. 
Mattie had for once come into town behind one of her 
brother's fast horses ; but it was only to consult her 
old music master concerning some difficulty she found 
in getting up Kuhe's Home Sweet Home, which she felt 
unable to cope with alone. 

' You must drive home with us, Ena,' they said, ' wc 
can't get Sam in too, or we would.' 

'You'll be dreadfully crowded with three in a gig,' 
objected Ena. 

'That's nothing,' laughed Alf in his good-humoured 

way, ' I only wish the ride was for life.' He looked at 


her earnestly ; then noticing the ring on her left hand, 
upon which ihe was drawing her glove, asked, 'Is 
it for Harry Linwood ? ' 

* Yes,' she said simply. 

' Then he's a happy man ! ' and they started in silence 
for Skifton. 

There was some laughter at the way the two girls 
had to sit upon each other; and the little scream of 
alarm from Mattie every time the horse gave an extra 
plunge forward ; but otherwise Ena was glad when 
they set her down at her mother's door. She had 
an uncomfortable feeling with regard to Alf, which 
she had never experienced before. Mattie promised 
to drop in during the evening, and so they said good- 
bye for the present. 

Mrs Sharp met her doubtfully, not knowing how her 
husband would take the visit of this grown-up looking 

' Really, it makes one feel quite old to look at you, 
Ena,' she complained, 'you really might pass for five- 
and-twenty; and in mourning yet; so tall as you are 
too, quite over my shoulders.' 

'Over your head, you mean, Mother,' laughed Sam 
who just entered, having had a ride home too. 

Mr Sharp looked in, and taking in the situation, said, 
' Really, Mrs Sharp, it does make you look old, and feel 
old too, I should say, to see such a house full at once. 
The little 'un as isn't too stuck-up yet, and might be 
made a bit useful, ain't come, I see.' 

Turning to Ena, he asked, 'How long may it be 
your pleasure to put up here, young woman ? ' 


'Only a few days,' faltered the girl, 'while I get 
ready to go to my ichool.' 

'Well, well I I might ]est a* well tell ye, futt aa 
laat, I ain't a-going to hev no laxy planner piayin' 
hangers-on loafin' round here.' 

Turning to Sam, he continued, 'You've sneaked 
yer keep out o' me two or three times young man, an' 
I should advise you not to try it on too orften.' 

' Sir I ' said Ena flashing up, ' this was our father's 
home, and you are the interloper ! Tell us, mother, if 
you wish us to stay or not 7 ' 

'I've nothing to say in the matter,' whimpered 
Mrs Sharpe, 'he's master here now.' Then catching 
Ena's grieved look she added, ' But I should like you to 
stay just a few days, Ena ; it's so long since I had 
a talk with anyone, and I want to hear all about your 
engagement, and all that, you know.* To Mr Sharp 
she said with unconscious irony, ' She won't eat much, 
she never had a great appetite.' 

'Well, I suppose "the interloper" must put up 
with whatever you like ; only don't try on too much 
on't, that's all.' 

Ena found, like most bullies, he was easily cowed, 

and set herself to renovating her own and Sam's 

clothing, and went out very little. She had never 

known her mother to cling to her so much before. 

When good Mrs Linwood came and claimed her for 

awhile, Mrs Sharp would not hear of her going; but as 

Mrs Linwood pointed out how tired and thin Ena 

looked, and that it was rest she needed, she consented ; 

and for the next ten days Ena was petted and fussed 


over to the heart's content of all the Linwood family, 
which we know was rather numerous. 

Annie and Ena took Icjg healthful walks ; and were 
never tired of discussing Harry, and everything 
connected with him. 

As for Mrs Linwood, in having Eua with her, she felt 
as if she had part of her darling boy. 

But time passed on, and Ena once more started out 
alone to Fenend, where Annie said she should go and 
suy with her after Harvest holidays. 


Eka found Fenend flat and uninteresting. An old 
farm house had been secured by Mr Hillbert, the 
curate in charge, and made very comforuble by his 
sister. The house was old, but climbing ivy of many 
years sUnding beautified the front, and it stood back 
in a garden which was a tangle of flowers, fruit trees, 
currant and gooseberry bushes, raspberry canes and 
vegeUbles, certainly more useful than ornamental, 
but that quality agreed with Miss Hillbert's idea of the 
fitness of things. No one was better qualified to bring 
a new parish into shape than she, for she had a natural 
faculty for managing both people and things, and 
which only seemed to come out in greater force from 
the years it had perforce lain dormant. This house, 
moreover, was just across the road from the new 

Ena was not so fortunate, she had to Uke a room 
more than a mile away ; and, although this was all 
very well during the summer months, and the enforced 
walk probably did her good, yet she often felt strangely 
tired after it. 

She passed many of the cottages on her way to 

school in which the children lived, and you would see 

them hurrying out after her, the little ones holding on 

to her skirts and her hands, toddling and chattering 



•long, their tdmiring mothers guing aAer them ai 
they went. 

Several of the elder girta were within a few months 
of Ena's age, but they became so attached to her, there 
was no trouble in their management, except of one very 
sullen girl, who would occasionally hold out, but Ena's 
quiet firmness conquered in the end. 

For the Harvest holidays, Ena decided that Jessie 
should come to her, and that they should spend them 
together at Fenend. She knew Mr Sharpe would 
object to their going home, and she felt she could 
hardly put such a slight upon her mother, as to stay 
elsewhere in Skifton; although the Linwoods were 
greatly exercised that she refused to come to them. 

They did the next best thing, however; they sent 
Annie with a well filled hamper of good things, who 
sUyed three weeks with her, and then persuaded Ena 
to go back for the remainder of the vacation. She was 
rather surprised at Jessie's eagerness to see her 
mother, and make acquaintance with her step-father; 
and, as soon as they arrived in Skifton Jessie went 
straight to them. She told her mother she was tired 
of school, and did not want to go back, and that Ena had 
not allowed her enough to eat 

She should scarcely have complained as her bill for 
living was a little over twice as much as her sister's, 
and yet there was nothing beside actual necessaries 
charged ; but while Jessie had had sufficient, Ena had 
not. This summer's vacation brought back some of the 
hues of health to Ena's cheeks, and her visit to the 
Linwood's did much to restore her spirits. 

I I 


Nothing was seen of Jessie for a few days, not even 
when Annie and Ena went to see Mrs Sharpe ; then, 
she suddenly appeared at the Linwood's, her hair in 
disorder, her face almost black except where the tears 
had rained down, and her few belongings in her arms. 
It seemed she had been left to look after the house, 
and do the Saturday's cleaning, while Mr and Mrs 
Sharpe went to market. She swept and scrubbed and 
worked with a will. A cooked supper was to be ready 
by seven o'clock, and Jessie had peeled the potatoes, 
and the cabbage and pork were boiling merrily over the 
big hearth by three. But she never thought of feeding 
a sty full of little pigs ; they becoming hungry, broke 
out, got amongst Mr Sharpe's vegetables and made short 
work of them, rooting up and destroying what they 
were unable to eat. 

When Mr and Mrs Sharpe arrived home, they found 
Jessie fast asleep, tired out with her unwonted exer- 
tions. The fire had gone out, the pot boiled dry, and 
its contents were spoiled. This was bad enough in 
Mr Sharpe's eyes, but when he discovered the havoc 
the pigs had made, he was beside himself with rage, 
and frightened poor Jessie almost out of her wits. 

When the storm had somewhat subsided, and Mr 
Sharpe had gone after his pigs, her mother turned upon 
her, and scolded her for showing such ingratitude, after 
her own goodness in taking her home again. ' It's a 
shame to bring such trouble on me ! ' she cried. This 
astonished poor Jessie, who had at least expected 
sympathy from her mother. She rushed upstairs to 
the garret which had been assigned her, (every avail- 


able room in the house being let) gathered up her 
things, and fearing lest Mr Sharpe should see her, and 
make her come back, had run with all her might to the 
school-house, taking the short cut across the fields 
where Ena had had her adventure with the bull. 

It was just as well Jessie should see for herself how 
impossible it would be for her to live at home under 
the rule of Mr Sharpe, and Ena felt thankful she had 
not left the child to such guardianship. Grandma had 
been right, and she must stand by her as long as 
necessary. Jessie being convinced that her personal 
comfort depended upon her sister, was more docile, 
and when she returned to school with Ena, did so 
without that secret feeling that she ought to be at 

In the meantime the sewing and renovating of 
garments went merrily on ; and under Mrs Linwood's 
experienced hands it was wonderful what a good 
showing they made ; and how clothes Ena had felt in 
despair over turned out to be quite respectable. 

Mrs Linwood's health had been steadily failing, and 
Ena felt with a pang ' what would Harry do if anything 
happened to his mother while he was away.' By many 
thir^js she said, Ena knew she felt it would be likely 
she would never see him again, that is if he stayed 
away his full term. 




Jessie, contented and grateful for the kindnesses 
shown her by her sister and friends, Ena returned to 
her own work with more courage than she had felt 
since Harry's departure; determined to 'make ends 
meet' somehow. The school increased to its fullest 
capacity, some children coming from the neighbouring 
parish of Deacons Drove, where there was a school- 
master ; and she was kept very hard at work, but her 
salary remained the same. 

As winter was coming on Miss Hilbert and she 
planned to open a night school for men and boys ; they 
had begged light and fuel from the Rector ; and, as they 
taught without any fees, their school soon required the 
assistance of Mr Hilbert as well. 

The winter proved to be one of those humid ones, 
when this part of the country is enveloped in a dense 
white mist, which reaches into the very bones of those 
exposed to it. Ena went to school at nine in the 
morning and returned at twelve day after day, when a 
person three feet in front ol you was indistinguishable ; 
the only way you could keep the road was by looking 
down, and being careful not to step off into the ditches 
which drained it on either side. 

When night school was to be held in such weather 


she seldom went home to her tea at four o'clock, and 
would remain in her saturated boots till nine, when she 
would return with some of the boys who passed her way. 
chilled to the bone. But she was afraid to light a fire 
for fear of using up her little stock of coal, which 
seemed to go so quickly whether she had a fire or not ; 
so she would get some hot water from the woman of 
the house to make her tea ; and then creep shivering 
into bed, where she would lie awake for hours, her feet 
too cold to allow of her sleeping. She had arranged 
with the woman to get Jessie's tea, and see her to bed 
at the right time. 

One evening however, at night-school, her very lips 
were bloodless, and Miss Hilbert coming in with her 
usual hustle and rush could not help noticing it. 

' I looked out for you at four o'clock. Miss Hetherington, 
my brother said it was a shame you should go twice 
through that fog, I wanted you to take tea with us, but 
I didn't see you.' 

' I didn't go, Miss Hilbert, I was afraid I shouldn't 
be able to get back.' 

' What ! don't you feel well ? ' said the other quickly, 
she was beginning to like Ena, since she found her 
brother possessed no particular attraction for her. She 
had never imagined a lady-like girl, such as Ena was, 
would have come to this out-of-the-way place to teach, 
and had been pleased with herself for being there to 
look after him. She had heard in the village of Ena's 
foreign letters of course, and seeing she wore an 
engagement ring, felt secure. Strange to say, she had 
never noticed that the three weeks Annie was there, her 


brother had been almost constantly with her ; and since 
her departure, letters came at stated intervals addressed 
to him in a feminine hand. The post mistress had 
though ; and, understanding perfectly well, that Mfss 
Hilbert, who was many years her brother's senior, 
would object to such a thing, always kept them till he 
came in for some trifle, or just to chat, as he did about 
the time these missives should arrive. No word upon 
the subject had passed between them, but each under- 
stood the other perfectly; and, womanlike, the post 
mistress was delighted to assist in a romance. 

Ena prepared for her class as usual, that is to 
all outward appearance ; but every now and then her 
head swam so she was confused, and her feet felt like 
lumps of ice, she could scarcely drag them round. 

Mr Hilbert had just received s letter from Annie, in 
which she told him the doctor said, Mrs Linwood must 
undergo a painful operation in about a month's time. 
Her one wish was to see Harry again, and the young 
man had been sent for, as the re-action caused by his 
coming might assist in taking her through. 

Dr Flint senior, had said, 'I have little hope for her 
myself, but I think everything in reason should be done 
to save the life of this good woman, who as wife and 
mother has lived her unselfish life under my very 

Ena turned as he spoke, but she did not see the 
letter he held in his hand, for she fell forward in a 
heavy swoon, which lasted so long they were afraid 
she was dead. 

Miss Hilbert ran over to her house and got some 


brandy, which they forced between the drawn white 

A man who came to night school as much for a little 
variety to his existence as from any desire to improve 
himself, ran (or his mistress, and told her of Ena's 
condition. It was the only &rm house in that part of 
the village, the rest being mostly the cottages of the 
farm-hands, a shoemaker's, a small shop and so on. 
She was a kind and motherly woman, who had liked 
the quiet school-mistress, and had said if she had only 
known what kind of a young lady she was, she should 
have had a room in her house, and welcome, but 
unfortunately neither the Hilberts nor Ena knew this. 
Her daughter and only child had died of a fever upon 
the eve of her marriage, leaving a break in the good old 
lady's life that a horde of nephewsand nieces newr could 
fill. As soon as she saw Ena she sent the man post 
haste for Dr Stokes. ' Don't spare the horae, James,' 
she said, 'but tell the doctor we must have him here 
quick as he can come." Then she proceeded to examine 
the poor girl's feet, and drew attention to their saturated 
condition, pointing out the fact that the floor of the 
church being of glazed bricks, there was little chance 
for her feet to dry, and none of their becoming warm. 

' We must get her to bed as soon as possible, and put 
hot water bottles to her feet,' she said to Miss 

'Take her over to my place,' commanded Mr Hilbert, 
without referring to his sister. 

Miss Hilbert was surprised, but could make no 
objection, for she had a very kind heart at bottom 





despite her desire to manage everybody, and every- 
body's affairs. 

The men carried Ena over in a chair, and the two 
women undressed her, and put her into a bed which 
they had heated with a warming-pan ; that is a utensil 
usually made of brass, as large round as a frying pan, 
but a little deeper, and covered by a hinged lid, in which 
holes have been punched in a pattern of some kind ; 
this being fitted with a long handle, h<<s some clear live 
coals put in it, and is drawn up and down from the foot 
of the bed several times, making it very warm. Then 
they put bottles filled with hot water to her feet, and 
gave her more brandy. 

When Dr Stokes arrived she was staring at the 
ceiling with wide open brilliant eyes, which saw nothing, 
and recognised no one. 

He felt her pulse, and shook his head, then he drew 
back her sleeve, looked at her arm and then at her 

'Couldn't any of you see that this is a case of 
starvation ! ' he asked, pointing to the emanciated arms, 
and the fleshless chest, ' What has she been doing here, 
and where did she live ? ' 

They told him, as he descended the stairs. 

'Go and look at her larder, and you'll find little 

there but bread and tea. And with such weath?r as 

this! I suppose her boots and clothing match the 

diet. Really there's nothing like the cruelty of you 

women to one another ! ' and he turned indignantly to 

the well fed, healthy-looking Miss Hilbert. 

' I saw she didn't look well,' she returned apologetic- 


ally, 'but I couldn't ask her what she had to eat, or 
wear, could I doctor?' and Miss Hilbert escaped to 
the sick room. 

'How much did she get a year?' he asked of Mr 

Twenty-five pounds.' 

'Twenty-five pounds ! ' he was in the warm parlour, 
and sumped and fumed. 'Isn't it a shame! A cook 
would get more than that, and her board and pickings 
thrown in.' 

' Really, you know, I wouldn't have dared to interfere 
with Miss Hetherington, she was so quiet and retiring; 
and I have no idea what is required to keep a young 
lady,' stammered Mr Hilbert in remorse, 'but I know 
she is providing for a younger sister as well.' 

' Well, well, all I have to say is she's starved, and 
if she pulls through this, it will be by the sheer tenacity 
some youngs things have to life.' 
'As serious as that doctor ?' 

'As serious as that!' he repeated irritably. 'I 
should have thought any one who has seen her for the 
last month must have seen it coming on.' 

' You forget, doctor, we clergy can't distinguish these 
physical ills, as you can. I did notice her depression, 
but I thought it might be owing to the absence of 
young Linwood ; she's engaged to him, and he's gone 
abroad on mission work. She wouldn't go with him, 
as her grandmother left the youngest sister in her 
cha a'e ; and they thought they ought not to expose the 
c Mid to mission life.' 

' Linwood, who went to Zanzibar ? ' 


It ' 



' It'i ]u« as well she didn't go there. His mother is 
to undergo a dangeroui operation, and they've sent for 
him. Poor child 1 starvation of heart as well as 
body! We shall have a hard task to pull her 
through ! ' 

He went on to speak of Mrs Llnwood. ' The best 
faculty in the county are intertfi.-d in the case, and 
Flint is so determined to do all h« can for her, he 
intends to get the specialist frf I andon. We've 
already consulted upon the His professional 
telk had run away with him, ana he had not taken his 
usual keen note of his companion. 

' Do all you can, Stokes ! don't let money stand in 
the way ; you can have all I've got ! ' and he caught the 
doctor's hand. He thought the young man had suddenly 
taken leave of his senses, and looked at him for an 

Mr Hubert took out his letter and said, "This is 
from her daughter. I only met her for three weeks, 
when she was staying with Miss Hetherington ; but 
my very life is bound up in her. I can feel for 
Linwood; but I can't understand how they could 
sacrifice themselves for any younger sister ; they did 
more than I could. It's only been the continued illness 
of Annie's mother which has kept me from carrying 
out my first intention of marrying at once ; and only 
by Annie's entreaty that our engagement has been 
kept to ourselves because her mother is so unselfish, she 
wouldn't feel justified in letting Annie forego every- 
thing for her sake, whereas she depends upon her 


daughter enUrely. Of cour»e I've seen her father, and 
written to Linwood, and they both approve.' 

'My dear fellow,' said the good doctor, 'you're a 
lucky man to secure the affections of the daughter of 
such a woman; I only wish you hadn't let Miss 
Hetherington run down so, and that Linwood may let 
nothing keep him ; for, I think the lives of these two 
women, under God mind, depend upon whether he's 
here for the crisis or not. They are both of a highly 
strung, nervous and sensitive disposition ; " mind over 
matter " all the time with such as they, and it's truly 
marvellous what that temperament c ,; pull through 
with sometimes.' 

The groom now arrived with the medicine the 
doctor had been waiting for, as he wished to see its 
effect upon £na. 

'I'm going to see your sister now,' he said as he got 
up to leave the room, ' and 1 shall expect her to carry 
out my instructions to the letter.' 

Whatever he said to Miss Hilbert, certain it is that the 
invalid had the best of care. A trained nurse was sent 
for, and the struggle for life went on. It was pitiful to 
see the strained eyes and flushed face of the poor girt; 
when tiie Eau de Cologne and water was put upon her 
head, the steam from it rose visibly. 

Keep a fire night and day,' ordered the doctor upon 
one of his visits, 'it will create a current of air, and no 
fire can heat the room more than that poor child's 
body does.' 

Seven days and no decrease in the fever, which Dr 
Stokes had pronounced to be Typhoid. Fourteen and 



rather an increase; twenty-one, and no abatement, no 
continued aleep, but a gradual weakening of the sufferer. 
Dr Stokes got very anxious. ' Would that young 
rascal never come ? ' he said to himself. For she was 
sinking, and it required more than medicine to rouse her. 
She seemed to know them sometimes, but was too 
weak to speak above a whisper. ' Water 1' Water!' 
she begged, if they would only give her water. She 
turned her burning eyes to the jug on the washstand. 
If she could only reach that ! but she was unable to 
stand, and they would only give her wine and water 
or new milk. 

Twenty-eight days; the doctor stayed by her all 
that night, and to her constant cry for water, at last 
consented. Four o'clock ; lie was glad she had survived 
two o'clock, as he felt that had been the most fatal 
hour for her, when there was so little electricity in the 
air. She had fainted then, and he had with difficulty 
brought her round. She had fainted several times 
since then, but he had continued to give her restor- 
atives, and kept life feebly in her. 

Why did he watch the door, and get so restless as 
the night wore on? Miss Hilbert was puzzled; her 
brother too had been away all day, and was not home 


Half-past four : Ena looked as if no breath was in 
her body, but the fever had left her, an J she knew them. 
The exhaustion, however, was so great. Dr Stokes 
was afraid to give an opinion, although implored to do 
so, over and over again by a silent gesture from MUs 




The leemingly endless night wore on ; a quarter to 
five. The front door in the hall below suddenly opened, 
and a voice asked through the stillness of the housp, 
'Which room?' 

The doctor watched his patient with a fixed look. 
She opened her eyes, listened to the footsteps bounding 
up the stairs, turned her head slightly so as to see the 
door, and a beaming smile of light and love passed 
over her face ; the doctor said to himself, ' she'll do.' 

But as the young man threw himself upon his knees 
beside her, the eyes closed once more, and such a grey 
palor overspread the face, the doctor ran to pour a few 
drops of restorative down her throat, and to lower 
her head. 

Harry thought she was dead and the great cry of 
anguish he gave did more to rouse her than all else. 
He was unmanned, poor fellow, he had travelled in- 
cessantly since he had received the letter summoning 
him home ; fearing he might be returning to the death- 
bed of his mother. When he landsd Mr Hilbert had 
met him, and they had come as fast as express could 
bring them, to what seemed to be the death-bed of his 
love. And the terrible sobs of a strong man sounded 
through the room. 

Meanwhile Dr Stokes and Miss Hilbert were doing 

all in their power to restore Ena. The doctor came to 

him and said, ' Take her hand, my boy, and speak to 

her, let her know it's really you. Remember it's you 

alone, with God's blessing, can save her from a relapse, 

which must prove fatal. See ! her look is wandering.' 

They all retired to another part of the room ; and 

MiCKxorr aisoiuTioN test chakt 



^^■^ 165:5 East Moin Street 

BT^ F?och»stef. New rofk 14609 uSA 

'.^^ {'16) 483 - 0300 - Phone 

^S (^'6) 26a - 5989 - Fox 



Harry, too shaken to speak, sat down beside her, and 
gently took her hand. 

Presently she whispered, ' Harry ? ' 

' It's me, love,' he said, and pillowing the weary head 
upon his arm, fondly stroked the closely cropped hair. 
She seemed soothed and contented, and after a few 
minutes was sleeping quietly, as she had not done 
for at least a month ; and no doubt some time before. 

The watchers crept silently out, the doctor putting 
his finger to his lips, told Harry not to move, and that 
when she woke he would give her a soothing draught. 

She didn't wake for four hours ; the doctor who had 
never left the house, gave her some concentrated 
nourishment, and then the soothing draught, and laid 
her back among fresh, cool pillows. Harry sat there 
till she went to sleep again, which was only a few 
minutes, and with a smile on her face for him. This 
sleep lasted till seven o'clock in the evening. Dr 
Stokes had been in the house since six, expecting she 
would wake then. He said M danger was passed if 
proper care was given to nourishment and sleep, and 
no excitement allowed. 

She was too weak to enquire into the presence of 
Harry, so the critical condition of his mother was 
unknown to her ; and when he said he would have to 
be away for a few days, and asked her to promise to 
sleep as much as possible in that time, and take the 
nourishment given; she promised, and with her old 
faithfulness kept to it. 

He returned from his mother, who had bravely faced 

her ordeal, as the old doctor knew she would, with her 


husband by her, and her son near at hand. Indeed 
the sudden joy of knowing Harry was on his way, 
greatly revived her, and proved a great factor in her 
ultimate recovery. 

After three weeks Ena was removed by easy stages, 
to Mrs Linwood's, and the invalids made merry together, 
helping each other back to health and strength in a 
marvellous manner. 


Ill i 




Now Dr Stokes was a widower, with a houseful of 
growing daughters, which he had not the slighest idea 
what to do with. He had noticed Miss Hilbert's 
powers of management and admired her for them. So 
he one day paid a visit to Fenend, which was not 
professional, and told her what he thought, and what 
he hoped she would do. 

' Well, just to try my powers of management,' she 
laughed. To the astonishment and annoyance of his 
household the doctor announced h;s intention of 
bringing home a mamma for the girls, and a mistress 
for the house ; when he should return from his much 
needed holiday, and warned them all to be ready to 
receive her. 

Of course all five girls were there, dressed in their 
newest and gayest frocks ; the material had taken their 
young fancy in the shop windows, and Papa had said 
they could all have new dresses; it had likewise pleased 
the old housekeeper, who was naturally more indulgent 
than judicious. They sat round the untidy, uncomfort- 
able looking parlour, as the doctor followed Mrs Stokes, 
and neither came forward nor spoke a word. That 
was the right way to do, they had been told, by one 
of the servants. 

' Here girls,' said the doctor cheerfully, ' is your new 


Mamma that I told you was going to manage us all 
for the future.' Turning to his wife he said, ' You'll 
have your hands full, my dear ! ' Then he fled to the 

She looked helplessly at tliem, and saw they ranged 
from the ages of five to twelve. She and her brother 
had only come to this part of the country, when he had 
tak.n charge of Fenend, a little over a year before, and 
consequently knew little of their neighbours. She tried 
to speak to them, noticed that her husband had dis- 
appeared, broke down and cried; a most unheard-of 
thing for her to do. 

Then followed the strangest part of all, the eldest, who 
had promised great sport to the others from her rebellion, 
which was to be systematic and complete, went up to 
where Mrs Stokes sat with her face in her hands; 
literally bowed down by the weight of her responsibility, 
and touching her hand said, ' Don't cry, Mamma, we'll be 

The others looked on open-eyed at their sister and 
leader, wondering what was coming next. 

At the magic word ' Mamma ! ' Mrs Stokes put down 
her hands, looked for an instant at the face bending 
down to her, and taking the child in her arms, kissed 
her and called her ' my own dear girl.' 

The others all pressed round her now for welcome. 
Then she took them to her room, and they all fell to 
unpacking a certain box, which contained presents for 
each from Paris. 

' How could papa afford such nice things ? ' they 
exclaimed, ' Or did you get them for us ? Isn't it nice to 




m \ 


have things too, as well as Lucy Miles. She's got a 

pony you know, Mamma, and she says, we can't afford 

things like hers, but these are better than her*. Her 

governess says we ain't fit for Lucy to play with, we're 

only like servants. Isn't that nasty ? ' and they prattled 

away discontentedly, as children will. 

' Never mind what Lucy Miles says, it's not nice to 

talk like that. You shall have a governess, and a 

pretty pony to ride, too, and go to the staside with me; 

and do lots of things other girls do.' 

The doctor had never doubted that the new head of 

the household would ' hold her own,' but he was hardly 

prepared to see such good will established as greeted 

him, when he ventured to put in his head, and ask if 

there \7as to be any dinner that day. 

Of course Mrs Stokes soon remodelled the household, 

only retaining the former housekeeper as nurse, for she 

was really attached to the children. She set up her 

own pony carriage, and you would see it bowling along 

with girls and governess, driven by Mrs Stokes, and 

followed by one of the girls on a pony. 

The good doctor found so much comfort at home, 

that the strain of his profession was much less upon him ; 

and the income, which had never been fully adequate 

before, was more than sufficient now. So Mrs Stokes 

spent her own on the higher education of ' her girls.' 

Poor children, their own mother had died when the 

youngest was a baby, so they had never known her 

care ; and they turned with affection to this kind heart, 

and duly appreciated her good management on their 




Fenend was so dreadfully neglected by its curite in 
charge, that Annie left her mother in the hands of 
Harry and Ena ; and, after a quiet wedding, went to 
look after it, and him. They lived there for two years, 
and there a little boy was born, the first of a houseful of 
sons and daughters. A living was then presented to 
Mr Hilbert in the north of England ; and, though not 
very rich in itself, had a good house and grounds, and 
what they liked better, plenty of scope for work. There 
they lived to a good old age, and many rose up to ' call 
them blessed.' 

Mrs Winton wrote, begging Harry to take his mother 
and Ena, and go with her to Naples, where poor Miss 
Stevens was to spend the winter ; and where, in her 
own heart, she knew she would remain, and be laid 
beside her mother ' till the trumpet call.' 

There they had sojourned for some six weeks, when 
Miss Stevens telegraphed to Mr Winton to come to her. 
He lost no time in obeying the summons, fearing the 
worst for their dearly loved friend. He hastened to 
her upon his arrival and found only Mrs Linwood with 
her, the other three were upon one of their excursions 
in the neighbourhood. 

'Don't be alaimed,' she said, with her usual con- 
sideration for others, ' I'm no worse ; but I love those 



dear children, and should like to sec them happy while 
I can still enjoy that pleasure.' 

So Harry and Ena were quietly married by Mr Winton 
in the same church to which Miss Stevens' remains 
were carried a few ./eeks later, for her prayer had been 
heard, and the end was speedy. 

When her will was read it was found that she had 
left ten thousand pounds to Mrs Winton, and five 
thousand to Harry and Ena. The rest of her large 
fortune was judiciously invested for the benefit of the 
different Homes and Hospitals she had supported during 
her lifetime. 

Ena and Harry invested some of their fortune for the 
benefit of Mrs Sharpe, gave Sam the professional 
advantage?, he needed; and, leaving Jessie in Mrs 
Linwood's good care, went to take up the new duties 
assigned Harry in Honolulu. 




of Life on the border lands of Canada and the 
United States of America. Illustrated. Second 
Edition Cro%vn 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. 

OF THE WEST. Is of peculiar interest to the 
women of the present day, as it speaks of the life 
01 women in a new country. The character 
sketches of her sex are a strong point in Mrs 
Herring's writings, she having been a pioneer in 
British Columbia. The book has a number of 
Illustrations, and contains a Portrait of the Author. 
Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. 

ENA. Is a simple story of a girl's life in the Old 
Country, who strives conscientiously to do her 
duty. Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. 


COLUMBIA. Characteristic of the Cosmo- 
politan Life, wh-ire Occident and Orient meet in 
every day life, combined with an interesting story 
of love and adventure. Fully Illustrated. Second 

IN THE PATHLESS WEST. Is the story of 
a boy captured by the North American Indians, 
and tells familiarly of the life of these little brown 
people. It is profusely Illustrated. Second Edition. 

THE GOLD MINERS. A sequel to ' The Path- 
less West.' With an Introduction by Judge K. 
W. Hovvay. 

Londoa : FRANCIS GRIFFITHS, 34 Maiden Line, Strand, W.C. 


■i i 









Scttman — ' Ii i>liei you lo Ancient Egnrpt, to the mtgnliicnit 
court of Fharoah in Thebes, with iu hundred gttei ud in perpctail 
iunthme, and telli a highly romantic itory.' 


5<;o/i»w».— 'Written with considerable power this novel hat its 
motive in a sublime act of self-tacrifice.' 


Dumla Admrtisir. — ' A novel of very considerable power,' 


BirmiHiham P^tt.—' There is plenty of charm in the story.' 


AbtriaiiiDaily Journal.— '1\it work it one that will appeal 
strongly to those who have had eiperience of foreign travel end who 
are able to appreciate the local colour at its true value. There are 
ability and power in this novel.' 


RiynohCs iVcikfy. — ' For weaving pure romance Mr George Kyven 
hat a marked aptitude.' 


Tht Harnw Gatelle.—' This ii a novel ol uncommon interest and 
power. Its setting it unique, and the character! are altogether out of 
the ordinary.' 


Tkt Eastern Morning //mis 'Novel readers who have found 

pleasure in the former books of Mr Georee Ryven will be aniious to 
make the acquaintance of his latest work? 


Soulhwark and Birmontbiy Rtcordcr.^' The author may do belter 
work than he has given us in " The Shining Doors," but we imagine 
that it will be lookod upon by many as hit most striking contribution 
to romantic literature. 

EARTH'S SHADOW, In the Press, 

THE SELFLESS. In the Press. 

Londoo: FRANCIS GRIFFITHS, 31 Miidn Uiw.Stnuid.W.C. 


Price 6». 

By EuzABCTH Rebbeck. 

MoHlreal HiraU.—' The >ub-title of thii ule— " A T«l« of Primil 
Aipcritici "— is well ehotcn. The Kcne li laid •omewhcre i< the 
Canadian Weit, near the Pacific Coui. If one wanti to kno. hat 
a woman thinki it meani tu go out "on the land " in the remote //eit 
with the man of her heatt and spend a life-time in hard work auu per- 
ilitent effort to win a victory for self and posterity over the unmutcred 
forces of nature, this tale will tell it, The chief characters are real 
men and women, and the tale grips the reader.' 


Price 6s. 

By Hugh Hammerer. 

AitrdiiH Frtt PritL—'lYx author has imagination, a graceful 
style, and a fine appreciation of character. The story is wholly de- 
righlful, and dramatic enough to enthral even the most bits* of novel 

of the Golden A<e. By Mrs Langfield Saw- 
kins. Crown 8vo. Price 6s. 

Devon and Exiltr &«««?.— '"Lady Bertha of Romrow ; A 
Romance of the Golden Age," by " A Native of Caerruth," is a story 
well out of the beaten track. Absorbing, dramatic, steeped in the 
spirit of martial fire and imagery of the early Saxons, it carries one 
on in breathless interest amid the soul-stirring passions of cur ancient 
heroes, telling the story of the struggles of the stalwarts of our historical 
Wessei for the maintenance of religion and the defence of our insular 
stronghold against all comers. The plot is laid around the ancient 
Castle of Rougemont, Eie Bridge, Prentonbury, Finglebridge, and 
Tintagel, and has a real West Country historical Havour about it that 
should endear it to the people of the Shire of the Sea Kings.' 

HEARTS ADRIFT. By Geqrge Raffalovich. 
Crown 8vo. Price 6s. 
DHHdie A Jvtrliitr.—' TbuaovA by Geom Raffalovich forms the 
second part of a trioiogj; started with " The History of a Soul." Like 
its progenitor, it exhibits uncommon features of observation and ex- 
pression—the latter remarkable in a writer who, half a doien years 
ago, knew no English. Here he uses the medium with dexterity, and 
paints some of the dialogue with opinions gathered from his experience 
thu side of the Channel. Interesting in its literary a-' intellectual 
character, the novel is further welcome on account of its psychology 
notably among the activities of the scenes in Pnris In some chapters 
located at Hastings, the English people introduced are not very con- 
vincing. But on French soil the plot presents some real types and 
likely circumstances ; and towards the finale the effect is vital and 
fine, with an infusion of genuine tenderness and melancholy j indeed, 
the concluding passages promise that sooner or later .Mr Raffalovitch 
will give us a great and poignant romance.' 

Loadon: FRANCIS GRIPPITHS, 34 Maiden L«ie, Strand.W.C. 


WAITING* By Annif Robinson. Crown 8vo. 
Price 3s. 6d. 

Dundee AdvrrtUer.—* K lort ot VictorUn pUcidlty and gract 
charactertiei thii relinedly-writtcn nove} by Annie Robinson. The 
titular lignificance of its story is disclokcd in the protracted love affair 
of a girl who cherishes through years her dream of happineu with a 
man too poor to marry her. The latter goes abroad, makes a fortune, 
and returns to claim his patient sweetheart. With this simplt and 
heartfelt history are associated the experiences of a match-making 
mother, who hunti London and the country for hubanda for hn 


Wandering with a Camera in Soutliern Seas. By 
Frank Burnett, oi Vancouver. Demy 8vo. 
Illustrated. Price 133. 6d. net. 

Dundee Advertiier. — * There are few places lo faicinating to the 
untravelled citizen, or wliich appeal so powerfully to hia imagination, 
or round which has been woven so mueh romance and iwetry, so 
many delightful fairy stories, with their curious blending ol fact and 
fiction, as tlie beautiful islands which, in solitary grandeur or in lovely 
clusters, rise out of the Pacific, and are comprehensively termed 

' One can pardon Mr Frank Burnett or the enthusiasm he displays 
or his sibject, for it is obvious that the Ixauty of these islands, the 
charm and grace of many of theU inhabitants have exercised a potent 
spell over him. To his work, Mr Burnett has brought a pleasant 
discursive style, and the result is that his descriptions of his travels in 
Tahiti, Raratonga, the Sohimon Islands, and Papua make very pleasant 


LiLiAS H. Dixon. Crown 8vo. Price 6s. 

Irish Independent.— • When the gifted author of " The Master of 
Helmsuiere, apologises in her preface for the length of her story, the 
reader will all loo readily disclaim any need for apology. She ha> 
told an admirable tale, depicting certain phrases of upper-class life in 
England with a judgment and fidelity born of personal experience. 
To use her own word.s — " Some of her happiest hours were spent in 
writing a simple record of home and social life." The love element 
enters largely into her story, and. if the dramatis personee are many, 
each actor plays his part with charming naturalness. In fact, it is 
this very naturalness, together with the picturesque glimpses we get of 
rural England, that help to make the book so fascinating.' 

Loadoai FRANCIS GRIFFITHS, 34 Maiden Lane, Strtod.W.C.